Blood of the Innocents
by Sabari
Summary: "What do you know about this clone?" "I know he's young for his record." So continues the story of Just Another Clone (JAC) as he fights to save the lives of his brothers, survives torture, faces murderous traitors and is given an offer he can't possibly refuse. What does it mean to be a clone? To be alive? Does anyone know?. Non-slash/non-pairing.
1. Madhouse 1

_This story is told in 8 semi-self-contained plot-lines (plus a postscript), each consisting of 3 chapters. Because there is an overarching plot which spreads across all 8 parts, it is published here as a single story._

_Please note that, though this story should be able to stand alone, it is a sequel to _Just Another Clone_._

_My knowledge of _Star Wars_ is limited to the following: Episodes I-VI (the live action movies), the first season of CGI series _The Clone Wars_, anecdotes from my brothers (who actually play the video games and have read some of the books), comments from reviewers of my previous _Clone Wars_ story, and the extreme minimum of internet research (_i.e._ looking up the definition of "walker"). It is therefor advisable to consider this AU._

_Note that the "Red" (among other characters) of this story has no relation to any official "Red" character in _Star Wars_. I did some reading on Order 66, but there seem to be conflicting reports on it. In the context of this story, Order 66 is treated as a command, not a program._

_I feel sort of like this became a never-ending saga and probably goes on far longer than it should. Due to some things going on in my personal life, the ending wound up being a bit rushed (the postscript was meant to be a full Part 9). A bad ending is better than none at all, right?._

_As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day (Barring anything out of the ordinary. I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). __This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. __Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer._

* * *

**Part 1 – Madhouse**

"_A thousand times they brought me here; to play, and sing their funeral song"  
-Cathy Royal (Adam-12_ episode_: The Princess and The Pig)_

* * *

The Clone lifted his head on hearing the distant screams.

The sound bothered him, though he could do nothing about it, and knew well that it would do him no good to dwell on it. But the cries were anguished, full of fear, crying out for mercy hopelessly, aware of the futility of screaming but unable to do anything to stop, calling out in vain for help which would not -_could not-_ come.

An involuntary shudder ran down The Clone's spine. He could so easily be next. Clones braver than he had been dragged out, kicking and fighting it all the way, only to be broken somewhere beyond his sight, their haunting cries echoing through the dungeon, a chilling warning of the future that awaited any who set foot outside their darkened cells.

The end was coming. The Clone could feel it. His number would soon be up. He wondered what lay beyond that doorway at the end of the corridor. What secrets were locked behind it, what did it conceal that was too terrible for even the strongest clone to endure?. Soon he would know.

That, at least, was something.

The Clone had lost all track of time. His only measurement for it was the cries of the demented, wounded and dying. Meals, if you could call them that, were served only irregularly, and The Clone elected not to sample the stuff, which was sludgy and smelled like motor oil. It wasn't finickiness on his part, he was hungry enough to have eaten an entire speeder. It was because he'd noticed that those who ate of the strange food invariably became insane and ill. Some died.

While The Clone held out no special hope that he would be rescued or find a way to escape, he was not so foolish as to fully eliminate the possibility of it. He had faced starvation before, had beaten the odds and survived where many others had not. He counted this fact unimportant in his resume, attributing his survival more to luck than anything to do with him.

Perhaps he was wrong, but perhaps he was right. He never bothered arguing the point.

There was little chance of his being found. The Clone remembered well how that day had gone. Droids, led by Grievous, had come upon sleeping clone troopers. There had been two lookouts, but neither lived long enough to raise the alarm. The clones had been taken virtually without a fight. The Clone still had energy enough to be infuriated about that. Clones are not given to surrendering themselves, primarily because it's not in their training, but also because it invariably does them more harm than good. Yes, he was still alive, but was that any consolation at the moment?.

Being alive meant only that he could anticipate a world of hurt before being put to a slow and painful death. Something to look forward to.

The captured clones, disarmed and severely beaten (just about the only way to subdue a clone is to beat him senseless or break every bone he's got), were transported to this facility, whose location The Clone didn't know, and suspected that nobody else did either. Except Grievous and his workers, of course.

Ostensibly, General Grievous had set the facility up as an interrogation facility, but he and the clones both knew that this was not true. More like he was looking for new and improved ways to kill clones, though the truth went still deeper. Grievous, though seldom present because he was busy running an army, liked knowing that, somewhere, there were clones being tortured in his name. It pleased him to think that he wielded such power, even if it was only with the permission of his master.

A living clone is about as likely to speak to a Separatist as a dead one, and everybody knew it. But that didn't stop the people working here to claim they were doing it "for science". Jac knew all about their science. Poke him with the pointy bit and see if he screams. If not, upgrade your pointy bit, add some new features and try again. Repeat until bored or subject expires.

The screams quieted down, but there hadn't been the sound of death at the end. The subject was either unconscious, or the "scientist" was bored. Or his "tool" had broken. Something.

Jac settled back into his hunkered position in the corner. This corner he had claimed for himself when his cell mates started to act funny. They might have been his brothers once, but they had become less than wild animals, vicious and without thought. At least an animal had some sense. Jac cast a wary glance at the others who shared the ten-by-ten space with him.

Near the door, one lay dead. It was hard to say whether it was the food or his own injuries which had killed him in the end. But there he had dropped, and there he remained even now. In the corner opposite Jac's, another sat with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around himself, shivering and shaking though it was hardly cold enough to be doing that.

In the middle of the room was the most disturbing of all. He sat in a little pile of dirt, legs spread before him, making little furrows with the edge of a metal plate, then carefully filling them in. Every now and then he would lift the plate, hit it against his head with a loud 'bang' and murmur nonsense to himself.

When he'd first started to lose it, this clone had become violent. For what seemed like days, Jac had fended off senseless attacks, and he may even have killed him if he'd gotten the chance. But, after awhile, the other clone gave up, plunked himself down in the middle of the cell and hadn't moved since. There had been others, but they were gone now. Nobody who was taken out ever came back.

_Clang!._ The clone with the plate struck himself.

"Thou hast done awful, bad things," he murmured, either to the plate or himself, it was hard to tell "thou art worthless, vile and pathetic. Thou art filth unworthy of redemption!."

Where he'd picked up the peculiar way of speaking, The Clone didn't know. He hadn't talked that way before. The Clone wondered if he'd read it somewhere, or once encountered those who did speak that way. He supposed it didn't really matter.

"Forty one, forty two, forty three... one... two... three," the clone in the corner's response meant no more than the initial statement of the other.

He was forever counting to forty three, sometimes sobbing as he did so.

The Clone refused to eat the food with good reason.

The one with the plate set it on its edge and dug around in the dirt some more. There was a metal floor underneath the filth, but he'd never dug deep enough to find it. The Clone had, when he first arrived and sought to escape. He had found no way to do so.

The screaming had started again. The Clone hadn't even noticed it. He shifted slightly, and stretched the cramped muscles of one arm. Then he hunkered down again, prepared to defend himself lest one of his demented companions attempt to put an end to him.

He ached to his bones from inactivity. He'd mostly recovered from his injuries, but didn't dare to exercise much. It would leave him open to attack. He wondered if there was anything more jarringly unnatural than a clone being afraid of his own brethren. He supposed not. But then again, he'd been wrong about that kind of thing on more than one occasion.

The Clone had a name, one he hadn't heard in awhile. His name was the direct result of the opinions of those around him. JAC, which stood for Just Another Clone. It was a comment which had been made by so many that it eventually caught on. Jac didn't mind the monicker, he thought it was actually kind of fitting. He'd never been a particularly outstanding soldier.

Or, anyway, he didn't think so, and everybody else seemed to agree with him.

He'd forgotten the names of the other two in with him, but that was hardly a surprise. Jac was one of those unfortunates who got bounced around from one battalion to another, generally through no fault of his own. He sometimes thought he must have met the whole army by now, but he rarely saw the same faces twice. Was the one in the middle Jester, Joker... Joel... something like that maybe?. He didn't know. He decided he was too tired to care.

He didn't sleep much these days. Too dangerous. And there was too much noise anywa. However much he tried to deny it, Jac was unable to harden his heart to the high pitched cries of his agonized, dying brothers. There were times he felt like screaming right back, just to let the world know that there was more than one suffering down here. But he didn't. He never made a sound. Sometimes it seemed as if making a sound would open him up, and let all the crazy right in, and he'd been right alongside the others, digging in the dirt and spouting meaningless phrases to pass the time.

There were times, a few times, that he thought maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

The screaming became louder, more frantic, and then suddenly fell away in a death rattle. Jac shuddered, but otherwise made no move to react.

For a moment, just a brief moment, his deranged cell mates fell silent and looked up. For just a second, their eyes seemed clear. Miserable, but clear. Then they glazed over. One hit his head again, the other resumed counting, though Jac noticed his accidentally skipped over two numbers, and had to add them in later in the count. Jac wondered if the numbers stood for anything. Names, battles, ships maybe?.

Did it matter?. Jac decided he didn't care about that either.

Fact was, he was caring about less and less all the time. He didn't like it, but that's how it was. And if there was one thing about life he'd learned, it was that life didn't give a damn whether you liked it or not. Life did as it pleased, and everybody else better just get used to the idea. Or go insane.

_A depressed clone doesn't live long,_ he reminded himself.

But when you're depressed, you don't tend to care all that much. And Jac didn't.

A clone's favorite pastimes are equipment maintenance and sleeping. As Jac couldn't do either, he took up a very dangerous thing for a clone to practice. Thinking. Reflection mostly, sometimes planning, now and then a little daydreaming. This wasn't the first time Jac had been left with time on his hands, he was getting pretty good at thinking. Too good for his own good, he was sure.

But it wouldn't do to just sit and do nothing at all, that was a good way to lose your mental faculties and find yourself in an early grave for lack of purpose if nothing else.

And Jac had learned from experience that the clone who lived to fight another day was almost always more valuable in the long run than the one who got himself killed first rattle out of the bucket. Jac wasn't old by clone standards, but neither was he especially young. He'd been around the block a time or two, seen more things than many and survived more than most.

And all of it had somehow led him right here. Well, it wasn't so bad. Not really. After all, his reflection gave to him memories of jobs well done, people alive now today that wouldn't be if he hadn't done his job. All in all, it hadn't been such a bad run.

_That's quitter's talk, right there. You're not dead yet,_ some part of him whispered.

He sometimes wished that piece of him would shrivel up and die. Then maybe he could have a little peace. Rest in peace, more like.

There's a difference between wishing you were dead, and accepting that death's waiting at the end of the line. For a long time, Jac had been in the latter category. He'd known he was going to die almost from the moment was born. In a way, that's what he was created for. It had never bothered him. But these days, he got to thinking, which led to wishing and... well, it was all downhill from there.

_I've been doin' this a long time,_ he reasoned with himself, _I'm just tired. Too tired to care what happens one way or the other. Too damn tired to go on._

This horrified the other part of his brain. Unbeknownst to him, at this point in his line of thinking he grunted painfully and shifted as though uncomfortable.

_You weren't too tired in the desert, carrying a Jedi with you, now were you?. You weren't too tired to tell the truth when they threatened to kill you for it. So you're a little hungry, you've been through worse and pulled through okay!._

Jac twitched, half-asleep though he didn't know it. Too dazed to know the difference.

_That's just the trouble. I've been fighting so long, been through so much... I just don't have any more in me. I gave all I had to this war, this damn fool war I don't even believe in._

_You're just a coward. A stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing coward. You want to whine and complain, why not just join your friend in the dirt, start digging crazy circles and smacking yourself on the head like a badly made mechanical toy. How 'bout that!?._

Jac didn't have an answer for himself, so he shut up.

"I really thought that one had some fire left in him," voices, out in the hallway, talking to each other.

"Yeah, but you can't win 'em all. Oh well, plenty more where he come from, am I right?."

They shared a cruel laugh at the expense of their unfortunate captives. The door to the cell opened, but Jac didn't so much as twitch. Didn't even breath. He couldn't have gotten up if he wanted to, exhausted by arguing with himself. He watched them out of dull eyes.

_Clang!._

"Thou art trash, fit only for burning!."

"Forty, forty one, forty two-"

"That one," a finger pointed to the corner, but not where Jac was "he'll do."

"Forty three... one, two-," when the man grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet, the clone began to wail "no,no!. No!. Three!. THREE!. _Three_!."

_Clang!._

"Thou art rotten!. Stinking and wasteful!. Thou art!. Bad!. Vile!. Evil!. Dirty!."

_Clang!._

Jac tried to become deaf to it, but he couldn't. The door banged shut, but he could still hear his brother's desperate wailing, even through the thick metal.

"Three!. Four!. Three!. Three and four and five!. _Three_!."

"Thou art a disease, bile and blight upon the land!."

_Clang!._

All was silence for a moment. And then the screams began. A different soul, but the same voice, crying out meaningless numbers with every frantic breath as if it were the most important duty one could have. As if the Galaxy itself would shatter if the counting stopped.

Jac waited. Waited for the silence to return. Waited for Death to once again stalk these halls.

He was called Forty-Three, Jac remembered now. Jac always remembered the dead.

* * *

The plight of the clones had not gone unnoticed. At first, the Jedi had been unaware that there were missing. They had assumed that the clones were dead somewhere. A reasonable assumption, and one which was nearly impossible to disprove. And it wasn't like they had spare time to go about looking for dead clones. Not even clones in their vast numbers had that kind of time.

If they found their dead, they invariably took care of them in the way that clones do, but they didn't tend to actively seek the fallen. They had enough to do to keep track of the living.

But as the number of missing began to pile up, somebody did eventually notice. And that somebody mentioned it in passing to somebody else, who also thought it odd and mentioned it to somebody else again. Pretty soon, it was widely believed that clones were being captured and taken away for some reason. Among the clones who were not missing, there was widespread disbelief in this supposition.

Clones don't surrender. They don't just lay down and die. Not of their own accord. Not without an order. Sometimes not even then, though nobody mentioned this fact. Clones invariably went out of their way to avoid even admitting to the existence of deserters.

But Jac couldn't know that anyone was hunting for him in earnest. It's possible that he wouldn't have cared, even had he known. It wouldn't have changed anything. After all, what chance was there that the clones would be found wherever they were?.

But luck, destiny, fate, or the Force if you'd rather, had never abandoned Jac before, and it seemed unlikely that it would now. Jac was no Jedi, to be sure. He had no special powers, nothing special about him at all. At least, not to his way of looking at things. But it was a fact that Jac had survived much, and it seemed doubtful (even to him) that it had been sheer will power that had done it. And he wasn't about to start believing in magic. The Force was quite enough mysticism for one Galaxy.

Somebody had decided to take his brother's plate away. There'd been a battle for it, but a weak one, the insane and infirm seldom have much fight in them. When they do, it's best to avoid them until the moment of spirit passes, but for the most part, they don't have much to say about things.

He'd clung to his plate like it was a life preserver- and maybe it was -until the someone trying to take it away applied a boot to his hand. He'd let go then and, out of spite, the boot had crushed his hand. Now he lay at the back of the cell, whimpering his peculiar words to himself, sometimes screaming as one being tortured might, then shushing himself. He would sometimes whisper quiet epithets about nothing in particular, and then moan for a time.

Jac paid little attention to him.

Briefly, he'd tried to get a look at the damaged hand, but his brother had hissed, yelled, thrown dirt and even tried to bite him until he gave up and slunk back to his corner.

The door banged open. Jac opened his eyes, blinked in the sickly yellow of a light out in the corridor. A shadow stood in the doorway, but he didn't care to identify it. He wondered if, perhaps, Death had an actual form and had come just for him.

_You're hallucinating again, that's what you're doing,_ Both parts of his brain agreed, so he closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall.

A little while later, when he opened his eyes, the figure was gone. So was his brother.

Now he was really alone.

_Always have been. Ain't nothin' new,_ Said one part of his brain.

The other was too groggy to come up with a response, and so it didn't.

For the first time in he didn't know when, Jac slept.


	2. Madhouse 2

Jac woke up to the sounds of shouting. Strong shouting. Protesting against something. Something real, not imagined. He didn't move. He knew what was coming. Not so long ago, he'd been among those who shouted like that. The door banged open, and three clones were thrown inside. The door banged shut, another banged open. More shouting. And then it went away and all was quiet again.

Jac liked quiet. Quiet was good. Quiet made for sleeping. Sleeping was his favorite pastime. He adjusted himself, blew some dirt out of his nose and made to go back to sleep.

But he couldn't sleep. Not with the sounds of talk, lucid talk. He opened one eye, watching almost warily. Though it hadn't been long ago that he was as fresh and lively as this lot, it seemed like forever ago. Hunger is the kind of thing that eats away at you, makes time go slower than it ought, and makes you old before your time.

"Anybody hurt?," though his armor and tags had been taken, the voice could belong to nothing besides a Sergeant.

"All of us," was the grumbled reply "but I'll live."

"Me too," the third piped up.

"That's what you think," Jac couldn't seem to stop himself from saying.

The three newcomers lurched and swung around. They hadn't noticed Jac was there. They gaped at him. He blinked back placidly, not the least concerned.

"And just what do you mean by that?," the Sergeant asked when he'd quite recovered himself.

"Nobody lives here. Everybody dies," Jac replied quietly.

His voice was rough from lack of use. He wondered if you could forget how to talk. The Sergeant noticed his lapse of attention, and used it to exchange looks with his comrades. To them, Jac looked very little like a brother, and very much like a badly whipped animal, curled up and ready to die.

Jac cast a glance at the dead body, still on the floor. It stank. He didn't care.

"What happened to him?," one of the two lower ranking clones asked uneasily.

"Ate the food. Not such a wise idea," Jac replied indifferently.

He stretched his back, yawned a little, and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Jac woke to the sounds of screaming. It didn't surprise him, but it did wake him. He couldn't sleep with that. It just wasn't possible. He opened one eye and looked in the direction of his three new room mates. They sat, eyes wide, staring at the wall in abject terror, wondering what could wring that awful sound out of a clone.

"You won't get used to it," Jac told them.

The door opened, and a tray with metal plates skittered across the floor. The door shut again. Jac didn't see who'd brought the food. He never did. He'd have to get up and look around for that. And that was something he just didn't do much these days.

The three newcomers looked at the food. It seemed vile. They weren't hungry enough to taste it, even without Jac's warning. Oh well. They would be. Sooner or later. Either that or they'd end up like Jac, too weak to get to the food in the first place.

"What do you suppose it is?," the youngest of the lot asked of his Sergeant.

"Poisoned," the Sergeant replied shortly "that's all any of us need to know about it."

He flashed Jac a look, perhaps wondering if Jac really knew what he was talking about, or if he was just insane from having been locked in this madhouse so long. Thing was, Jac wasn't so sure himself. He wondered if these three guys were real after all. Maybe he was hallucinating them too.

He supposed probably not. Besides, what difference did it make?.

He soon learned their names, though he didn't really try. Sergeant Spader, Red and Luey. Luey was a rookie, out in the real world for the first time. What a way to get out of the gate. Jac couldn't render himself indifferent to that either. He'd always had some kind of soft spot for rookies. He supposed it was because they seemed kind of innocent, when compared with everybody else.

Not one of them asked his name, and he didn't give it. He didn't give much of anything these days.

_Don't have anything left to give,_ his depressing side told him.

_Shut up,_ was the feeble response from the other side.

It seemed to him, it really did seem, that his positive side was getting weaker. Maybe it would eventually fall over and disappear and then he could just eat the food and die in blissful insanity. That seemed like a better idea all the time.

A new sound came. He didn't know what it was, not at first. He blinked, wondering if he cared or not. Someone was talking at him. He turned his head. Sergeant Spader was blustering something... no, asking something. What did he want?.

"What's that noise!?. Do you know what that sound means?."

Jac started. Something woke up inside him. Somebody wanted him to do something. That seemed a novel idea, and he decided it might be well worth his while to try it out. He blinked, took a breath, and listened to the noise. It was a siren of some kind or other, but not one familiar to him.

"No idea," Jac said, feeling a little defeated.

He began to drift back to sleep, but now Spader was shaking him furiously, trying to wake him up. He wanted to grumble, tell the man to go away. But this was a Sergeant, and you just didn't do that with Sergeants. You woke up and did what they wanted.

Jac roused, and noticed smoke filtering in under the door. There were people running beyond the cell block, yelling, but not like clones. Other people. Running, yelling, yelling something. Jac listened, but couldn't make it out. He would have decided he didn't care if the Sergeant hadn't kept on shaking him.

"What?. What do you want?," Jac asked, trying to sound agreeable but really coming off just irritated.

"Can't you hear the loudspeaker?!," The Sergeant yelled in his face "one of the fuel tanks blew!."

"So tell a droid to fix it," Jac muttered reasonably, only half aware of where he was.

"You idiot!. There's chaos, we've got a chance to get out."

_Escape?._ Jac's mind translated tentatively.

That sounded just fine to him. So why didn't the Sergeant go and do that?.

"Get. Up!," the Sergeant snarled at him.

Spader, Red and Luey could barely hobble along on their own, they couldn't possibly carry Jac. But neither were they willing to leave him behind. He was still their brother, even if they didn't know him. Besides which, he might know more than he'd told them. Maybe he knew the ship's layout, or something else useful, like where they were.

He didn't, but they had no way of knowing that.

In response to the Sergeant's barked order, Jac did his best to obey. Using the wall for support, he awkwardly got his legs under him, and then tried to push himself off the ground. He promptly fell over, and would have just stayed there if Red hadn't gone after him while the Sergeant worked at trying to push the door open. It was electronically sealed, but the electricity was on the fritz now. Any second, if he timed it right, he could pop it wide open.

"You lazy son of a bitch!," Red yelled at him, yanking on his shoulder, almost toppling himself over.

Red's right leg was badly broken, and he had several cracked ribs giving him grief, but he kept right on pestering Jac. But he wasn't a Sergeant, he had no pull. Spader realized Jac still wasn't up and called Red to work the door while he worked on the stubborn clone.

Jac knew they weren't really mad at him, but they were frantic for him to get up for some cause or another. He didn't know why, didn't especially care either.

"Get up, damn you!," Spader gave him a kick in the ribs, and Jac rolled over on his back.

Slowly, like a petulant child, Jac began to sort of flail his limbs about, trying to get one or the other under him so he could push off and get up. With Spader and Luey both helping, he managed to get to his feet. His legs shook under him and he almost fell, but managed to catch himself on the wall.

"So I'm up," Jac grumbled, panting from the exertion "now what?."

"What are we gonna do with him, Sarge?," Luey asked desperately "his brain's fried like an egg. He won't make it more than ten feet before he wants to lie down again."

That siren was getting annoying. It seemed like it was getting louder and more shrill. That was all in Jac's head though. He wasn't really listening to the conversation. He was thinking about his corner. It was a nice corner. Good place to die.

"That's got it!," Red shouted triumphantly.

He went at once to a control panel, and opened the other doors in the cell block. A few clones stumbled out, a bit bewildered, but many were too weak or badly deranged to move. Some even cried out in fear of the open door. They knew what the open door meant. It meant Death could get in.

"You... what's your designation?."

"Hmm?. Oh me?. I'm... uh... I'm... Jac."

"Well, _Jac_, I'm a Sergeant. And you're not. So you'll do what I say, you hear me?."

"I hear real good," Jac commented, and it seemed that question was about all he'd understood.

"When I give an order, you'll obey it, got it?."

"Sure... you want... um... what was it you wanted?," Jac blinked, and pressed the his palm against his forehead, which had begun to hurt "my head... my head...," he looked up "what was it you wanted?."

The Sergeant could see that Jac was really trying, but he didn't have all that much life left in him. Spader didn't ask how long Jac had been here, didn't have to. Too long, that's how long. His mind had become muddled for lack of purpose and routine, starvation and being surrounded by insanity and death. He'd been alone in a cell with a dead body for who knew how long. He'd had it, plain and simple. The Sergeant thought of just giving up on him.

There were others, those who had a better chance of survival. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but he feared it was what he had to do. Luey was right, except he was probably overestimating things. Jac probably couldn't even push off from the wall without tipping over.

They'd been yelling at him, beating at him, trying to awaken that instinct to fight, distant kin to the instinct to survive, that was so strong in clones. That was why the Sergeant had kicked him and why Red had called him names. It hadn't been out of malice, it had been out of desperation. They couldn't carry him. But it looked like the fight card had been played so many times that it'd lost its value for Jac.

An explosion rocked the floor underfoot, shook the walls. The smoke which had been filtering in was sort of gray white, and thin, but now a great cloud of pitch black smoke roared up the corridor, flowing into the cells, desperately seeking escape from its origin.

"We need to get off this tub!," Luey practically screamed, able to do little else as he tried to cough the smoke from his lungs, a fully impossible task given that the smoke was everywhere.

"It's not a ship."

Heads snapped around. Somehow, Jac was still on his feet, in spite of the shock which had rippled through right before the smoke arrived.

"Say again," the Sergeant snapped.

"It's not a ship. Can't you feel it?. It's an underground building."

While this certainly wasn't impossible, it seemed odd to have metal flooring in anything other than a ship. It also seemed strange that fuel tanks would be anywhere other than on a ship. Though Spader supposed the fuel tanks might be for some sort of machinery other than a ship's engine.

Jac coughed, seeming indifferent about it, as though the information was of small importance, so little in fact, that he didn't care one way or the other whether or not Spader believed him.

"Well we need to be somewhere else," Luey said finally.

They left Jac where he was. They didn't have any other choice. There were others who did respond to being yelled at and prodded, others who might yet live, if only they got out fast enough. Jac was beyond their ability to help.

But Jac was even now beginning to work at survival on his own. In answering to the Sergeant, he'd started to remember that sense of purpose. It had drifted away from him when the others left him behind, but he remembered it. And that was enough.

He slowly turned towards the door. Holding to the wall helped him keep his balance. He looked at the door for a long time. He knew that, once he got moving, he'd have to keep it up, or he'd never get started again. That's assuming he could move in the first place.

_There's nothing wrong with you,_ His brain told him, almost berating him, _The only reason you haven't moved yet is because you're scared. What have you got to be scared of?. What hasn't happened to you yet that you're so afraid will if you step out of this cell?. Nobody's gonna stop you._

_That's what I'm afraid of._

Nobody who left the cell ever came back.

Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to know where it was they went. He wanted to know so badly that he forgot just about everything else. Without really realizing it, he started towards the door, keeping both hands on the wall for balance, taking small, stiff steps.

He had found his purpose.

* * *

Spader knew nothing of the layout. He knew which end of the corridor they'd come from, but little more than that. He hadn't been conscious when they arrived. A quick check revealed that nobody had. Many hadn't even woken up until they were already in their cells.

Spader knew that, if he showed any lack of confidence, the others would see it and react negatively. He had to pick a direction and push them in it, like he really knew where he was going. He picked the way that seemed the least smoky, hoping that easier breathing would help them somehow.

He'd already pretty much forgotten what Jac had said about being underground. Jac was nuts. If he hadn't, he might have followed the thicker smoke, in the hopes that it would lead to the surface. It originated from the other end of the cell block, where clones went to die. But he didn't remember, or refused to believe. In any case, he chose the path that looked best to him.

Truth was, he may well have been right. He had his hands full keeping the clones moving. Some were so out of it that they wanted to know if this was some kind of drill and, if it was, why did it have to take place in the middle of the night? (as if they knew night from day in this place).

Red helped as much as he could, but about all he was good for was yelling. Red could barely keep himself upright with but one leg to hop along on, frequently using the wall as a pretend crutch. He couldn't drag anybody to their feet. But he could stand over them and shout curses, call names and yell at them that they'd "damn well better get up" if they knew what was good for them.

But the Sergeant had the rank, and the ability to yank fallen troopers back to their feet. Luey wasn't much good for anything. It was about all he could do to keep his own head. Poor kid probably wouldn't be much good after a time like this. He'd be too scared of it happening again. What happened first time out, that stayed with you forever.

Red was one of the lucky ones. He hadn't been out in the thick of things for long, but he was accustomed to victory. It showed in his bluster and confidence. Some part of him knew failure was possible, but he wasn't listening to that doubter, and wasn't about to let anybody else do it either.

Red was also capable of speaking in tones that would get the dead to stand up and walk if he wanted them to. Or, anyway, Spader wouldn't have wanted to argue with him. Red was a fierce sort of clone and, with the wrong sort of handling, might easily have turned vicious.

But he hadn't had that handling, he'd been trained properly, and fallen in with a good bunch his first couple times out. He'd worked under Spader for a few months now, and did his job well, though perhaps with slightly more enthusiasm than would have been preferable.

Now he called upon all of his intensity just to get the weak and weary escaped captives to move. Each time Spader paused to look at the doors and hallways ahead, he realized anew that they would never have gotten this far with Jac. Poor guy was probably dead already.

Well, chances were, he was better off for it. It seemed to Spader that he'd suffered enough.

* * *

Jac wasn't dead. He wasn't doing much to keep himself alive though. He'd made his careful way to the very source of the explosion, though the fire had gone off in some other direction afterwords. He couldn't see much in the dim red lighting, but he could see enough.

His feet tread softly on broken glass, strips of metal and ash. The smell of death and decay hung heavily in the air, so much so that even the smoke could not mask it. A body, lying against the wall, was burning, the dead eyes seeming almost alive as the flame danced on the vacant pools of light.

Overturned tables littered the rooms on either side, the tools which had been laid out on their polished surface now scattered, broken, and covered with black filth. A few tables, still right side up, held the bodies of those long dead. Jac chose not to inspect them.

He could see they were mutilated, hideous and dead. He tried to forget their names.

He didn't know what he'd expected to find here. Answers?. To what questions?. Closure?. To what relations?. He thought about his corner some more. Nice corner. He liked that corner. Maybe he should go back to that corner.

He was coughing, swallowing enough smoke to kill a bantha, but he hadn't noticed much.

Suddenly, out of one of the rooms came what a first seemed to be an apparition. A moment later, when it spoke, he realized it was a clone underneath a white sheet that was on fire. Somehow, that seemed even more horrible than a phantom.

"What hast thou done!?. Thou art cursed!. Diseased, blight!. Death shall come for thee!. Thee and me!," with a wail, the clone fell, burning alive even as it was the smoke inhalation that inevitably killed him "wake up, fell beast!. Arise and live!," it was the last thing he'd ever say.

His name, Jac remembered now, was Gyp.

All of a sudden, Jac remembered a lot of things. The maddened cry of his fallen brother may have been what did it, or maybe he'd already been "waking up". Suddenly the smoke and fire took on new meaning for him. These things were deadly, and he had no business being here.

He backed away, away down the corridor, returned to the cell block, and beyond that. He wasn't looking for a way out just yet. There was something he needed to find. The armor and equipment for which he was responsible. He had to retrieve that before he got out.

Behind him, there was another explosion. The entirety of the "lab" went up in a great ball of fire. By so little had Jac's life been spared. But how often had that been the case?.

Jac decided he didn't care about that.


	3. Madhouse 3

It isn't easy, being awake. Really awake, that is. Taking in your surroundings, processing mounds of information, trying to make the right decision based on what you know, avoiding making assumptions wherever possible (assumptions are easy to make, and a potentially lethal mistake).

Jac didn't have time to day dream. And he'd spent too much time thinking.

He knew the facility in a way he hadn't realized. He'd heard the sound of doors opening and closing, boots stomping around, jingling and clanking of equipment and droids, and many other sounds which he had positively identified and filed away for later use. He knew how far or near those sounds had been, which directions they'd been headed, and what they all meant.

He'd had the time for it, and nothing better to do with his days.

He could make educated guesses at where doors and corridors led, which made his progress through the facility relatively swift. He didn't need to check everything, or everywhere.

The equipment stripped from clone troops had been carelessly tossed in a locked room in an uneven pile. Guns, med-kits, armor, helmets, boots, the lot, just sitting in a big pile. Jac dug through it, found every last scrap of equipment that was his (except the radio, which he couldn't locate), donned his armor, boots and helmet, and headed out. He had no interest in anyone else's stuff.

As it happened, Sergeant Spader had realized they were going the wrong way when gravity let him know they were heading downhill. He'd never have felt that in a ship. Turning back, he and the others came upon a clone in full armor. Spader didn't recognize this as the self-same wreck he'd left behind.

"Trooper, where did you come from?," the Sergeant demanded.

"Cell block, sir," The Clone replied, not even thinking the question odd, then gestured to his left "equipment is in there."

Something changed about the clones when they reclaimed their equipment. It was like their identity, their purpose, was somehow contained in that armor and they were nothing without it. The weak and injured were in much better spirits, and the demented seemed slightly closer to sane. They set forth once again, Jac taking the lead with silent consent from Spader, who had yet to recognize him.

Jac was far from doing alright. His legs kept trying to fold up under him and he routinely hugged to the wall in order to keep his balance. But he was awake, alive, and aware of it. Alert might have been pushing things, but he was trying to be that too.

It helped the clones tremendously that nobody had even noticed their escape. Now and then they would halt and drift into whatever cover they could find when people ran by, sometimes with droids of various kinds in tow. But nobody was looking for them. Even if anyone had noticed the clones, it was doubtful they'd have done a thing about it. They had bigger problems than a few haggard clones staggering around the facility.

Despite handicaps, Jac moved at a pretty good pace, and with clear purpose. The others picked up on this, and required less prodding from Red and Spader. Even if he wasn't a hundred percent sure where he was going, Jac wasn't about to let anybody know that.

_"If you can fake confidence, other people will believe it. If other people believe it, maybe you can start believing it too. In any case, you can get yourself so distracted trying to look brave that you forget you're scared,"_ he didn't recall who'd told him that, maybe it was one of his hallucinations.

Didn't matter who said it, it was useful to remember.

Though it often seemed otherwise, it paid to have a long memory.

Jac paused at the end of a hallway, looking to the left and then the right, debating which way to go. At the left was an elevator, which seemed promising, except for the fire. To the right, another hallway, which turned off sharply a few yards down. Jac wasn't sure which way to go. The others were waiting, somewhat impatiently. They were waking up to the fact that they'd been confined for a long time, and were just now resenting it. They were also choking and gagging on smoke, and wanted out.

Jac didn't fidget while he thought, standing perfectly still, save for turning his head to one side and then the other, slowly, with a kind of calm deliberation that he did not feel. His memory began to betray him. It reminded him of other times when he was asked to make the final decision on something, then been punished by one of higher rank for having made the wrong one even though at those times, as now, he didn't have enough information to know for certain what the correct course was.

"What's the hold up?," Spader had come to his side, and spoke low so the others didn't hear.

"I don't know the layout of this facility," Jac admitted "the elevator must go up, but I don't know where that hallway leads. Should we chance the elevator?."

Relief flooded through him as the Sergeant gave him a definitive answer, taking the weight of decision off his back. Jac didn't like making uninformed decisions, especially when he had no authority.

"These boys can't take much more smoke. From the sound of you, you've about had it too. We don't have time to mess around in hallways. Elevator may kill us all, but better we die quickly."

"Sir," Jac nodded curtly, and proceeded without delay in the direction of the elevator.

The others were wary. They hadn't noticed the exchange between Jac and the Sergeant, and were thus reluctant to risk their lives in an elevator. An elevator is exactly the last place you want to be during a fire. Too many things can kill you there. A snapped cable, smoke, a column of fire, too many things. Clones don't fear the death part, or even the pain which might accompany it, but are appalled by the idea of dying in such a fashion.

The elevator seemed to be still working, though Jac was now having a mild panic attack of his own. The inside of the elevator reminded him of the cell he'd left. His battered psyche balked at the idea of entering it on his own. But the others were crowding around him now, each unwilling to be the first to set foot in the deathtrap, at least, not if they weren't ordered to do so.

Jac had to do something.

He tried to steady his ragged breathing, but that only made him cough. There was no time to sooth his frayed nerves, no time to think, no choice but to go on. Go on. He could do that. He was good at that.

He got in the elevator, trying to stop his shaking. He wasn't sure if it was born of physical weakness or fear, but either way it was disconcerting. The moment he was on board, the rest of the clones followed, like a flock trailing after their leader.

The elevator lurched when its doors closed, and sudden claustrophobia nearly overwhelmed Jac. He tried to beat it back, inching his way to the far wall of the elevator and leaning against it. He was glad he had his helmet, so nobody could see him afraid. Fear wasn't right for a clone, he told himself sternly.

The elevator doors opened, and Jac forced himself not to bolt, waiting for all the others to get off before walking slowly, deliberately, from its interior. He made himself focus on where he was going to, not where he was coming from.

They were still in the building, now at ground level. The sirens still blared up here, but it was hard to see why. The smoke hadn't reached this point. The expansive hallways seemed to flow into rooms and back into halls with barely a corner to let you know they'd done so. There were windows here.

Spader must have been impatient, because he decided not to go about looking for a door. Instead, he and several other clones smashed a few windows. It took a bit of doing, but everybody managed to climb through the windows to the other side.

A blast of cold wind struck Jac across the face as he landed on the ground and he almost lost his balance. At first he thought ice was flying through air, but he realized it was dirt. It was daylight out here, morning from the looks of things.

In all directions there stretched a wasteland of dirt, dark with a tint more black than red. Clumps of dry grasses were strewn about. This wasn't a desert, but there was clearly a drought. Bad news for the clones. Jac tried to figure out if anything looked familiar to him. Had he been here before?.

He decided the answer was no. A moment later, Spader asked the question aloud. Nobody knew this place. It didn't seem as though they'd been here before.

There was a rumble beneath their feet. Another explosion. Another whirl of freezing wind attacked them, pelting them with hard, dry dirt. Both the wind and the dirt were working at finding a way through that protective armor.

"We've gotta get out of this!," Luey announced unnecessarily.

Spader ignored him, moving subtly to where Jac stood, off to the side of the others. He waved his hand to summon Red, who hobbled over and leaned against the outside of the building for support. Jac wasn't leaning anymore. He was looking around, searching for a direction. They had to _go somewhere_. Just where that was, he wasn't sure.

Always before, he'd had some indication of a better direction. He'd been able to see signs of shelter, or had known civilization lay around some corner or over a distant hill. But here... mounds of nothing or, rather, mounds of dirt. Scatterings of weeds long dead. They needed shelter. They needed food. But they also needed water. Right at the moment, there was a bit left in his canteen from who knew when, but that would soon run out.

Jac had learned well the price one paid for going without water. He was desperately hungry, though he didn't feel it, but that was of less importance. He still had some food. Some food could last a long time if you were careful with it.

"What do you think?," Spader asked Jac quietly.

"What's to think?," Red wondered before Jac could answer "it's the same in every direction. You can't go wrong. Or right, for that matter."

Though it wasn't entirely accurate, it might as well have been. Even assuming there was shelter or water to be found, there was no way of telling from here which way it was. Jac felt absurdly grateful for the comment.

"I, for one, did not come this far just to die," Jac said quietly "not here."

"Agreed," Spader grunted "but I don't like our odds."

"If everything were dictated by odds, I would have died long ago," Jac told him.

"Fair enough. Pick a direction and let's head out," Spader said.

"Yes sir," Jac barely whispered this.

He didn't know Spader well enough to decide whether or not the man would bite his head off if it turned out he'd guessed wrong. Was Spader the reasonable type?. Jac didn't know. Clones were often more reasonable than other people, but not always.

Jac decided he liked southeast. That put his back to the wind. Even if it got through his armor, the dirt might not get in his eyes. It seemed as good a choice as any. Without being prodded, the others began to drift after him.

Progress was slower now. The ground was uneven, and some of the dirt mounds had rocks hidden just beneath the surface. Clones who'd been using walls to stay upright now had to lean on each other, or fell to the ground and repeatedly picked themselves back up. Some decided crawling was the best way to travel. It was a ragged bunch that escaped from what they came to call the Madhouse, but they were living, which is more than those who stayed behind could say.

Without walls to confine them, many clones drifted off to the left or right, and eventually disappeared entirely. These clones had been too far gone to bring back to begin with, but had come along anyway. Spader and Red were too tired to keep everybody bunched up, and many a deluded individual lost his way. The clones eventually strung out, single file, making a white line in the blackened dirt.

* * *

Come mid-afternoon, the sun was high in the sky, and blazing down. The cold turned to heat. Intense, merciless heat. Jac didn't notice the difference. Heat or cold, it made no difference to him. He'd picked his direction and he was going to keep going that way until he found what he was looking for or died trying. And he was once again wondering if dying might not be such a bad thing.

More clones drifted away, some fell dead in their tracks. The wind kept blowing, the dirt kept flying. The clones were still coughing up smoke, and were half-blind by the smoke still in their eyes. For a few, it was all they could do to see the clone right in front of them.

They didn't notice when they blundered into a ravine, not until someone realized he wasn't being beaten by the relentless wind anymore. Nobody had even noticed when the terrain stopped being more or less flat and became more hilly and rocky.

Spader decided to call a halt. They'd gone about as far as they could. This was probably the best shelter they could find. Red had to shout at Jac to get him to stop because he'd fallen into a kind of daze, just putting one foot in front of the other, not thinking much about where he was going.

Soon as he stopped, Jac dropped like a sack of bricks.

* * *

When he woke up, it was night.

The surviving clones were lying in small clusters. A few stragglers had come wandering in. Spader had thoroughly inspected the rations, and knew they were still in trouble. They had to find a source of food. And water. Immediately, if not sooner. Otherwise all this would have been for nothing.

He knew better than to expect a rescue. Nobody knew where they were. Chances were, nobody was even looking for them. They were only clones, after all.

Spader didn't like it, but he knew he'd have to send some of the strongest (if you could call them that) to go in search of better shelter and provisions. Jac was not among them. Though he would not have protested if he were asked to go, Spader knew that Jac had carried them all as far as he could.

Jac didn't volunteer to scout. He was too wise for that. You didn't want to be a volunteer if none were called for. People would get to thinking that you didn't have enough work to do, and would give you more than you could handle. Jac was willing to pull his share of any load, but more than that he had learned he could not endure.

And a clone which was broken down was one whom no one could rely upon in a crisis.

* * *

It was dawn before the scouts came stumbling back. Some had managed to find water, others had found a nook in the ravine, sheltered on three sides by steep walls, shielded from the front by thick brush.

Spader didn't like the idea of cornering themselves, but he knew that they could hardly retreat, even if they gave themselves that option. Not one of them had the strength to travel far. Much as he detested the idea, he knew that concealment was their only real defense right now.

Getting everybody up wasn't easy.

Having been driven hard the day before, after many of them had been long inactive, they were sore, surly and even a little bit confused. They resented being woken up, didn't understand why they must move on. It was disheartening for Spader to see soldiers in this condition, swirling around in a dazed stupor, unable to comprehend what was being asked of them, and lethargically resisting command.

It was harder to get them up now than it had been before. Spader used every skill he possessed to get them moving. He cajoled, he demanded, he bullied, he coaxed. One by one, they got up and sulkily lined off to follow the weary scouts who'd found the shelter.

Jac, among a scant few others, required no shove to get him going, though he couldn't go fast.

Arriving at their new camp, Spader was a bit discouraged. This wasn't a very good spot. Best that could be found, the scouts told him. He didn't argue with them. It was better than where they had been. And, if it didn't rain, maybe it would do for now.

He dispatched a few clones to refill water canteens. He remained behind, knowing that he was a figure of authority, a symbol of confidence and purpose. Those with nothing to do needed his presence. Except maybe Jac. Jac sat off by himself, huddling in a niche created by a large boulder near the wall of the ravine. It was a lot like his corner.

Only seeing him there made Spader realize that this was the very same clone he'd given up on. The realization had a physical impact and he sat down abruptly on a boulder, a silent whistle on his lips.

He'd thought that trooper was dead for sure. At least dead inside. Yet here he was, undeniably the same, yet somehow entirely different. The clone Spader had met was beaten, broken, had given up on reality and living. This one had a steel edge to him, a sort of passive determination that just wouldn't quit. Spader wondered what had changed.

He hoped that it would stick with him. He knew that they would need Jac in the time to come. His quiet confidence, observance and coolness under pressure were invaluable. They needed every bit of it, if they were going to survive and somehow find their way home.


	4. First Among Equals 1

**Part 2 – First Among Equals**

"_Thy pride is but the prologue of thy shame"  
-Aesop's Fables_

* * *

The Clone woke up feeling cold and stiff. Sleeping on the ground would do that to you. No matter. Soon dawn would come and, with it, warmth which would chase the soreness from him. It would seem a blessing for a time, before blistering heat became the new hardship.

Nights were cold on this rock, but days were hot. Windstorms were frequent. Rain, not so.

The Clone stretched each muscle in turn, and every one protested that it wasn't ready to wake up yet. Having done this, he rolled over and then sat up. He blinked in the predawn darkness, his eyes registering his fellow clones as mere blobs of shadow.

He wasn't the only one waking up, nor was there anything particularly remarkable about how he went about getting himself started. There was a reason he was known as Just Another Clone. He and his fellow clones were stranded out here, not knowing where they were or how to get back home.

They had escaped from a Separatist facility when it caught fire. Nobody had come to look for them. Jac figured their captors were either dead or evacuated. In any case, it wasn't his problem any more. No, he had new problems to deal with.

First, there was Sergeant Spader. The Sergeant was a good soldier, and a good leader. But his options were very limited. There were few clones healthy enough to go about the tasks which could be assigned to them. Water retrieval, hunting for food, scouting around to look for any signs of civilization, and so on. Jac was at the top of the list, every time. Jac wasn't doing real spiffy himself, but he was the best Spader had.

Second, there was Red. He had been Spader's right hand before they were captured. Red was competent, Red was smart, Red was inventive, Red was courageous. Red was also a jerk. And he hated competing with Jac for the Sergeant's praise. It wasn't conscious on his part, he didn't intentionally envy Jac for having the Sergeant's favor. But Jac knew it. In fact, everybody knew Red didn't like Jac. Except for Spader, because both troopers were undeniably cooperative and responsive in his presence, neither making trouble for the other. Red wasn't stupid. He didn't want anybody to die. But he did make life very difficult for Jac, or tried to anyway. And nothing is so frustrating for someone who is jealous than to find that the object of their jealousy is unmoved by their feelings.

Third, there were the other clones. The sick, the injured, the demented, the young. They were intimidated by Spader's rank, though they had confidence in his ability as leader. If they had problems or complaints, they brought them to Jac. Jac had no rank on them. Jac was safe to talk to. Red didn't care about their problems, he had issues of his own.

But Jac was used to pressure. He didn't mind that Red hated his guts. It didn't bother him that the other clones brought their problems and grievances to his doorstep. And he was not shaken by the faith the Sergeant placed in him or corresponding responsibility he was saddled with as a result of it.

Jac thrived on having purpose. He practically worshiped things which made sense to him, no matter how difficult they were. So often he was thrust out of his depth, floundering in worlds and among people he could not comprehend. But here things were plain and simple. A clear chain of command, simple (if not easy to resolve) needs. Nothing more intimidating than a Sergeant to worry about.

About all this place was missing was some droids to shoot at.

Jac didn't move around much until the sun came up. It didn't find its way into the ravine, it was too shadowy. However, its warmth hit the air and earth and spread like invisible flame. Jac felt it, and the easing in his muscles and bones which resulted.

Nobody commented on the arrival of warmth, but all reveled in it. Some blinked contentedly, others sighed with relief as cramps lessened. These same clones would later curse the sun for its heat, and then feel remorse as it retreated for the night. They would long for it to come up again.

Looking up at the graying sky, Jac noticed something which hadn't been there before. Clouds. Just a few, but they were dark. Foretelling rain?. Maybe.

"Looks like we've got clouds rolling in," Red commented.

Spader looked up, grunted, made a sour face. Spat on the ground.

"Luey, you said you found caves somewhere around here," the Sergeant wasn't asking a question.

"Yes sir," Luey nodded, pointing vaguely in the direction and giving a distance.

"Jac, take two men and scout it out. See if it'll make a good camp. And, for goodness sake, make sure nothin' is living in it!."

The last time caves had been found, two clones had investigated without proper caution and gotten themselves eaten by some of the local wildlife.

"Yes sir," Jac said at once, ignoring Red's irritated expression.

It wasn't the work. Red didn't much care who did the work, long as it got done. And he didn't doubt Jac's ability. What irked him was that Spader had chosen Jac over him. While he was standing right there, no less. It was insulting, that's what it was, Spader always choosing Jac over him. Wasn't it he, Red, who had been there in every crisis, didn't he do everything Spader wanted?.

"Red," Jac nodded "Lue, you can show us right where you found those caves."

They waited just long enough for it to get properly light out, long enough to eat breakfast, and then they headed out, Luey taking point with some reluctance. Luey didn't like being singled out for this. He knew, just like everybody else, that Jac and Red were an explosion waiting to go off. He couldn't for the life of him see why Jac would actually _choose_ to have Red along.

The reason, plain and simple, was because Red was a good man for the job. Sensible, reliable under fire, Red wouldn't do anything that might get him or any of the others killed. He wouldn't panic in crisis, nor would he stick his hand in a hole without first being sure what was down there.

Red believed Jac was rubbing his nose in it. As if Jac were pointing out how special he was. Little did he know that Jac would gladly have given all his troubles over to Red. Jac didn't want responsibility, it just seemed to naturally fall on him, and he wouldn't shirk it when it did. Wasn't in his nature.

It wasn't far, horizontally speaking. Vertically... there was a reason Luey hadn't investigated more thoroughly the first time he went by. The climb didn't require special gear, but it was more work than he was willing to put in for a casual look-see.

Then again, Luey was one of those who didn't put in one more ounce of effort than proved absolutely necessary. He wasn't lazy, just economical. Save your energy, in case you need it later. On the other hand, it might have been easier to inspect it the first go around. That way, he wouldn't have to deal with Red and Jac pretending not to glare at each other behind his back the whole way.

Well, not the whole way. Once the climbing started, Jac took the lead. He didn't say it, but Luey knew he was testing for the surest footing. Red assumed Jac didn't trust anybody else. Truth was, Jac wasn't so confident in himself. But, if anybody was going to slip and fall, it would be him. He was responsible for those he'd picked to go scouting with him.

Jac was just too simple for Red's suspicious mind. While he never did much of anything without a reason, Jac seldom had secret motives hidden in what actions he did take.

Climbing was dangerous, and hard work with the sun beating down. It hadn't hit the hottest part of the day, so it was more unpleasant than deadly. Jac estimated that they'd reach the top well before the heat of the day. They'd stay there in the shade until it was cooler, then go back.

Spader would have assumed this. Of all the equipment they'd recovered, their radios weren't it. Radios had been ripped right out of their helmets, taken who knew where, probably destroyed. It was an inconvenience, but one Jac could deal with. He often found himself without benefit of radio. For him, it was a pretty regular occurrence, and nothing to get excited about.

He'd had to restrain himself from laughing when one panicked rookie, on his first scouting trip, had asked "what do we do if we find something?. How do we let the camp know?". Spader had patiently explained that they would have to make a note of their location, and come back to the camp and tell what they'd found and where. The rookie had been horrified by the notion.

Jac slipped on some loose shale, nearly fell, but caught himself. He didn't have to warn those behind about it, they'd seen plenty. Of course, Jac wasn't in the best of shape. He was doing better than when they'd first escaped, at which time there hadn't been enough meat on him to feed a canary. Limited rations had prohibited him from gaining back much of the weight he'd lost, but he was fast regaining his strength. The food they had was running alarmingly low.

They'd started with only scant rations in their supplies, and had managed to supplement it with only a handful of fur-bearing animals and some moss that grew near water sites. Tests had proven these things were edible, but they were hard to find.

Jac wasn't the only one having a rough time of it. Red was struggling along with a broken leg which had barely begun to heal and ribs which must still ache when he breathed. Luey was the best off, physically. He'd never gotten the chance to fight back when he was attacked, a sharp blow to the head had ended it before it began. He had frequent headaches which were quite severe. He never complained about them, would merely sit down abruptly, and fold up so his head was between his knees. He'd stay there awhile, then eventually straighten up and try to look like nothing happened.

He was better than he had been. When they first escaped, Luey had barely been able to keep his feet. He could hardly see through his doubled vision, and had more than once strayed from the group because he flat couldn't see them. He claimed he could see alright now.

Jac could tell by listening to the occasional wheeze in his breathing that Luey had a headache coming on. Well he'd just have to hold it together until they reached the top of the climb. There certainly wasn't anywhere to stop and rest on the way up.

That was Jac's biggest concern. With all of their sick and wounded, could they get up here with everybody?. He realized that they'd have to travel to the location, rest, and then the strongest would have to help the weakest uphill. They'd have to make multiple trips up and down.

All that was assuming the cave proved a viable shelter. They didn't know that yet. Jac wasn't sure what they'd do if it proved useless to them. Try to tough it out in the rain, he supposed. But the wind, the cold nights... they'd lose some of their most ill that way. And the ones who were barely coming back were bound to get sick. It was no good. If this cave didn't work, they'd have to look for other shelter.

Those back at camp were depending on them. They had a job to do, and they were going to do it, if it took them until the rain fell. Jac didn't really think about it, didn't decide that's what they were going to do. He just sort of saw it in his mind, and believed it would be so.

When he got to the ledge in front of the cave, Jac turned and reached down a hand to help Luey up. Luey accepted, then sat himself down wearily. Red brushed off Jac's help, and Jac shrugged indifferently. Red's manner didn't bother him. Red was a good soldier, plain and simple. Just because he didn't play well with others wasn't any reason to get bent out of shape.

Jac had not forgotten that Red's aggressive manner had once saved lives. In spite of being badly hurt, Red had worked diligently to keep as many alive as he could manage when they escaped from the fire. Nor had Jac forgotten that Red had attempted to save him as well.

Jac didn't call an official rest before looking around the caves, but made no move toward them for the time being. Red paced from cave entrance to where the other two were resting and back again a few times, before settling reluctantly off by himself.

Jac wondered why anyone would work so hard at making sure other people didn't get close to him. Then again, Jac was frequently on the outside of things. New man in the battalion, too experienced for rookies to identify with, too much a stranger to be accepted among older soldiers. He'd never had to work at being outcast from a group. It just naturally worked out that way.

He'd learned not to take it personally.

"I wonder what makes guys like him," Luey muttered through his migraine.

"People usually have reasons for being the way they are. Clones are no exception," Jac replied.

He thought somebody had told him that once. Good line.

When he noticed Luey seemed to be feeling better, Jac got up without comment and went to inspect the caves. Before even going through the entrance, he looked at the dirt floor for signs of tracks, and the stone walls for signs that these caves had been dug by some kind of animal. It had happened before.

Red was doing the same. Luey was pretending to. He didn't know what they were looking for, but didn't want to get in trouble for standing around and doing nothing.

"You know what we're looking for, Luey?," Jac asked, as if he didn't know.

Luey made as though he wouldn't answer, then shook his head slightly.

"Two things. Is something living here and, if not, why?."

"Huh?,"

"The only thing more dangerous than walking into an animal's burrow is walking into a cave so unstable nothing is willing to live in it. Remember that," Jac said.

"Yes sir," Luey nodded.

_Show off,_ Red thought.

Having determined that the cave had not been dug by an animal, and that nothing lived here (at least, nothing that came out the entrance. Assuming this was the only one), the clones eased their way inside. Jac made careful note of the ceiling, looking for weakness or places where it might leak. He looked for signs of water on the walls and floor, even to moss growing among the rocks. Anything that suggested rain would turn this place damp.

Red and Luey showed less caution than Jac, and went on ahead. Jac knew he was being overly cautious. He still hadn't mastered the fear of closed spaces that had developed during his captivity. The cave, dark and cold, wasn't much different from a cell.

Red and Luey had been locked up for a much shorter time, and had no qualms about being closed in. Jac wondered if there were other clones among their number who might share his fear. That wouldn't be good. A bunch of panicked clones in a tight space. But he shoved that concern off to the back burner. He should have more faith in the other men than that.

Clones could handle a little fear. If he could hack it, then so could they. He'd be sure to tell them that before bringing them here. If you look confident, they will believe it, and have confidence because you do. Then, if you're lucky, you can really _be_ confident. Or so went the theory.

"Looks fine to me," Red grunted, returning from deeper in the cave.

Jac thought he should double check it, just to be sure. He would have wanted Red to do that if he himself had already looked around. But he didn't much want to. He'd gone as far as he wanted to go into the cave. Aside from which, he could sense a kind of impending doom about questioning Red right at this moment. Hot, tired, with dirt in places he didn't even know he had, his wounds paining him, Red was a powder keg set to go off. Jac didn't feel like being a match right now.

"Good. Let's head back and tell the others- wait... where's Lue?."

"He's right-...," Red turned to his left, then turned a full circle "he was right next to me."

Jac choked down an accusatory response. It wouldn't have meant anything anyway and would only have made Red angry. And feel worse about losing track of the kid.

"We better go find him," Jac said, sighing heavily.

It looked like he'd been going deeper into the cave after all.


	5. First Among Equals 2

As it turned out, Luey hadn't gone far. In fact, Jac nearly fell right on top of him. It was Red's quick reflexes, catching Jac by the arm, that prevented him from going down.

Regaining his balance, Jac peered down at the ominous black hole. His headlamp caught sight of Luey down at the bottom. Luey proved himself conscious by noticing the light and looking up. The two troopers shone their headlamps at one another for a moment, each assuring himself that the other was actually a clone and not something else.

"Lue, you okay?," Jac called.

"I'm not sure," came the slightly weak reply "my head hurts."

"From the way he landed, it looks like he must have gotten one of his headaches, lost his balance and fell," Jac said aside to Red "he wouldn't know the difference if he'd broken every bone he's got. I better go down there and see to him."

"With what?," Red demanded "we don't have any rope, in case you haven't noticed."

"A little climbing never hurt anyone. You'd best get back to camp. Tell them the cave looks good, other than this sinkhole," Jac didn't know if it was a sinkhole or not, but it seemed like a good term for it "and bring back whatever's left of the med-kits. I haven't got much left in mine."

"Here," Red handed Jac his own med-kit.

Jac took it, nodded. Red stayed to watch Jac climb down, maybe thinking he might be able to assist in some way, but not being sure how. The climb wasn't easy. Most times, it was more like a controlled fall. But Jac made it to the bottom in one piece. He looked up, it seemed a long way. Red nodded and disappeared from view.

"How's it goin', Lue?," Jac asked.

Luey made no reply, unless a moan counts as one.

"How did you wind up down here anyway?," Jac asked conversationally.

He wanted Luey conscious and talking.

"Um... oh... well...," he trailed off, and Jac nudged him in the shoulder "I noticed Red hadn't gone over here, so I... well..."

"You thought you'd do it for him and keep him out of trouble," Luey didn't answer "well, let me tell you something: I'll just bet Red noticed this hole and avoided it intentionally. I'd have noticed it, if my eyes had been on the ground where they belonged."

"Why didn't he say anything?."

"He probably thought you had more sense than to wander off, or that you'd ask before blundering around in the dark by yourself," Jac replied.

"Well, did he tell you about it?."

"Nope, but he was lookin' for you at the time," Jac said evenly "and probably thought I had my eyes down, where they should have been. But I wasn't watching where I was going."

"What a dumb thing to do," Luey was talking about his own actions, though it took Jac a moment to realize that "but I... well..."

"You didn't want trouble between me and Red," Jac nodded "I'm familiar with that. But our issues are our own, to work out for ourselves. Ain't nobody that can solve them for us."

It was a terrible thing to see two people you trusted and looked up to fighting. Jac knew. Worse is when your very life is dependent upon those people. He'd have to do something about Red.

"Hey, Jac?."

"Yeah."

"You've had hallucinations, right?"

"Yeah..."

"So... how do you tell... when something's real?."

"You seeing things?," Jac asked.

"I think so."

"Well, you can't really be sure. But you have to look at what you've experienced in your life, what your training and instincts say are real. Anything that doesn't fit is probably an illusion."

"What if you still can't tell?."

"Then you think about it, try to understand it, and live in the only reality you can- which is the one your senses tell you exists," Jac replied.

* * *

It was hot with the sun high in the sky, but Red wasn't paying attention to that. His leg was hurting him worse than he'd known anything to hurt before, but he was steadfastly ignoring that too. What he could not -would not- ignore, was his own mistake.

He'd been so busy trying to show up Jac by a quick, but thorough check of the cave, that he'd neglected to keep an eye on Luey. It would be easy to say that Luey should have known better, too easy. And Luey should have, in a way. But he was also a rookie, placed under care of Red, Spader and other experienced clones, to learn by seeing and doing firsthand the things which could not be taught in other ways.

Red had let him down. Red knew Luey was impulsive and incautious, but he hadn't been thinking about that. Red remembered when he'd been less observant, expecting the whole world to be wired like his training missions. He'd been surprised to find out that it wasn't. That's why you had training.

Training meant not having to think about absolutely everything around you. Training meant being able to react without thought in situations which were familiar, leaving the mind open to take instant note of anything which wasn't quite like it had been in simulations. But a clone had to learn that.

He had to get wise enough to think, and had to be taught _to_ think, something which was covered nowhere in their training before being shipped out. Red recalled certain scenarios that tried to mimic the unpredictability of real life, but not one of them could manage it.

Red suddenly wondered how much more he had to learn. It finally dawned on him that Jac may have learned something in the real world that Red hadn't yet discovered. There might be some kind of reason Spader picked Jac over Red, that didn't have to do with favoritism.

Jac wasn't much older than Red, not really. But you could see age in his eyes. He'd seen a lot. Red mulled that over on the way back to camp, wondering what Jac might know that he didn't. Red had always done his best, but it often didn't seem good enough.

On reaching the camp, Red had to explain to Spader what had happened. Spader took one look at Red and knew a quick trip back wasn't in the cards for him. He was about beat. Unfortunately, there weren't enough good clones to go 'round.

"You get these men organized," Spader ordered "get them to carry what they can, even if it's each other. I'll go on ahead with the medical supplies and see if I can't give Jac a hand,"

"Yes sir," Red replied, maybe a bit more subdued than he'd meant to be.

Spader suspected that Red had something to do with what had happened to Luey, that he was either responsible or thought he was. But he'd have to ask Jac. Even if Red were responsible, it was obvious he was kicking himself for it, and didn't need anybody coming down on him to make him think about it. Good man, that Red. Realized when he'd made a mistake and thought long and hard about how to make it right. A lot of people would just try to cover it with dirt and not even admit to themselves that they'd done anything wrong.

* * *

"Jac!."

Jac looked up. Sergeant Spader was looking down at him. He waved, then went back to his work. Spader decided against climbing down to join him, and dropped the med-kits down after shouting a head's up.

"Two medics out of all these clones, one can't walk, the other delirious, neither one even worth shooting," Spader muttered to himself, shaking his head, hoping Jac had acquired medical skills somewhere along the line.

He turned his attention to the more immediate problem. It was one thing to slide down into the hole, but getting back up would be something else entirely. He wasn't sure what Jac's plan for that had been. Chances were, Jac hadn't had one. He'd seen that his brother was injured and gone down to help him without any thought for how _he_ himself was going to get back out.

"How's it going down there?," Spader asked.

"Not so good, Sarge," Jac called back "Lue really did a number on himself this time. He was awake and talking earlier, but he's not now. Broke his arm at least," there was a thoughtful pause "I don't know about internal injuries. I'm no doctor."

"Well, you are today," Spader told him.

"Don't I know it."

Spader looked around. The sides of the hole were steep, he wasn't sure how Jac had gotten to the bottom without breaking his neck on the way. He decided not to ask. If they had shovels, they could eventually dig proper footholds, maybe. It was pretty hard rock most of the way around though. But they didn't have shovels.

It was a problem, and might require more than one mind working on it to get it resolved. In the meantime, they weren't in a tearing hurry. They could drop supplies if they had to. It wasn't like they had anywhere else to be at the moment.

"How about you?. Are you hurt?," Spader asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

"I'm fine, but... have you got any idea how to get us out of here?," was his voice shaking?.

Spader couldn't tell for sure.

"Not right at the moment, but don't worry about it. That's not your problem."

"Do my job and you'll do yours. Right, Sarge," there it was again.

He was trying to sound chipper and as calm as always, but there was a definite tremor in Jac's voice that shouldn't be there. Was he hurt and not telling?. It seemed possible. Spader barely considered the alternative, that he was scared. He'd come to think of Jac as being unflappable.

But, down in the hole, fear was exactly what Jac was trying to fight down. He was afraid of the closed in space, it felt like being in a grave, or back in that cell. He was afraid that Luey might be dying, and he didn't even know it. He wasn't a medic, he wasn't trained for this. This wasn't his job!.

His hands started shaking and he took several deep breaths to try and get them to stop.

_You stop your whining, Jac,_ he told himself fiercely, _this boy needs your help. You're the best he's got. You can't lose your head. You can't do that to him. Or the Sergeant. You just cool it and do your job. Don't think about it, just do it._

It helped, but only a little.

Jac's nerves were frayed and he was only hanging on by a thread. Too much strain had piled up on him and he was now breaking under it. He was starting to panic, and he knew it too.

_Panicking never did anyone a bit of good, Jac. Stop it!._

If Luey had been awake, he could have talked to him. Could have kept his focus on the kid, and off of the fear building up inside. But he didn't have that luxury. Luey was deathly still, and there was nothing Jac could do to help him. He'd already done what very little he could with his training in first aid.

* * *

Jac wasn't the only one drowning in fear. Red had his own troubles.

Saddled with the responsibility of each and every clone on the ground, Red was feeling more than a little inadequate. He couldn't help but play back his failure to take proper care of Luey. And Luey was just one. He had many to keep track of now.

They had to move, had to stay together. He couldn't drive them too hard, or risk them breaking under pressure. They weren't trying to be difficult. His bullying tactics, which proved effective in breaking through stubbornness and panicked blankness, now betrayed him. The more pressure he applied, the slower things went. Dazed clones started to stagger back to where they'd started, it being the only safety they could presently recall. Wounded stumbled, fell and lay where they'd dropped as though they were dead. Red couldn't figure out what to do.

Thunder rolled and lightning struck, the storm wasn't far off. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall, cold and wet. In the heat of the afternoon, it wasn't bad. But evening was fast approaching. With it would come frigid temperatures. The rain would turn deadly all in an instant.

They had to pick up the pace. Instinct and experience bade Red drive the clones hard, ordering, demanding, pushing, dragging if he had to. They seemed to be barely inching along the trail Red, Luey and Jac had traversed in an hour earlier in the day.

The wind began to wail through the ravine, and this seemed to unleash buckets of water from the sky. The rain poured down, then was whipped into a frenzy by the relentless wind. The earth turned to mud, slippery, sucking, treacherous.

The clones who were most out of it began to panic. They shook their heads and lurched to the side when the rain and wind hit them, fell and then scrambled about in the mud, regained their feet and made as if to flee. Red had to hurry around and cut them off, to prevent them from seeking shelter blindly on their own. There was no explaining to these clones what was happening.

Some didn't even seem to recognize him as one of them. They turned away from him as a herd animal might flee a predator. Some turned _on_ him as though he were the enemy, only to recognize him a few seconds later and then drift meekly back in with the others.

Red was doing the work of more than one clone. He was sometimes leading, sometimes following and keeping stragglers in with the others, sometimes helping up those who fell, other times cutting off those who would, for reasons unknown to him, try and escape.

There were a few, precious few, who were well enough to understand what was going on, and to help others. Two clones, each with a badly mangled leg, were using each other for support, between them they had two good legs and hobbled along perhaps better than anybody else.

But even these clones were weary. They were no longer used to activity and, even aside from their injuries, they tired easily. But Red knew they couldn't stop for a break. There wasn't time. Stop and they might never start again. He could already feel the chill in the wind. And it was only going to get worse.

At last, they reached the base of the trail leading up to the caves. All at once, every clone in the group was balking, milling around and looking for a way to go other than up. Red was tired, too breathless to even speak at this point. It was all he could do to keep redirecting the clones toward the path. He would have liked to go get Spader, but he was afraid to, lest one of his charges wander off.

The two clones who had been helping each other along approached the base of the trail, examining it somewhat fearfully. They had worked out a good method of carrying each other along, and had been able to keep up without prodding. But this task seemed an insurmountable one.

A word of encouragement would have gotten them started. But Red was a clone who knew no gentleness. Kindness had not been fostered in him, and it wasn't innate. He caught his breath enough to speak.

"Go on, start climbing!," he snapped, though his voice was too raspy to have any force in it.

He gave one of the two a shove, not intending to knock them down, but trying to get them to go forward. He knew that, if he could only get them started, the rest would follow. He was desperate to finish his assigned task, exhausted, and in pain. He was frustrated and his guilt had started to eat at him and make him angry. His push, rougher than he meant it to be, knocked one of the clones down.

The other, who had formed an intense loyalty to what had become his "other half", rounded on Red. Without thinking, he hit Red as hard as he could in a weak spot in the armor, just below the helmet. Red went down and lay stunned.

The moment of violence had panicked the mentally unstable of the clones and they were suddenly scattering in all directions, falling and climbing over each other like wild men. Red tried to get swiftly to his feet, but slipped repeatedly in the mud.

The clone who'd hit him didn't follow through on the attack, instead kneeling down and helping his brother to get up. The two stood, leaning on one another, watching the scene play out in bewildered horror. Clones weren't supposed to act this way. Fact was, neither one of them knew why Red had shoved them- or why they'd hit him back.

Spader heard the commotion and came to the cave entrance. Looking down, watching Red scrambling to try and get the clones back under control, he shook his head in wonderment. He didn't even want to know how things had gotten so out of control.

"Straighten up!," he barked "stop playing around down there and get your asses up here!. On the double, let's go!," his authority was heard even by the most deranged of clones.

Still, it was nightfall before the last of the clones made it to the top and into the cave. All were soaked through, shivering with cold and trembling with exhaustion. For Red, it was something more. He simply couldn't figure out where he'd gone wrong. He felt ashamed, and terribly confused. He hurt all over, especially inside. How had he let the situation get so out of hand?. What did he do wrong?.


	6. First Among Equals 3

For the clones who'd been out in the open, it took most of the night to get wrung out, and many were still shivering in the morning, though they'd settled into a huddled pile on account of the cold. For Jac, the night had been equally long and uncomfortable. He'd sat next to Luey through the night, occasionally rousing himself from his fear-induced trance to check vital signs and assure himself that Luey was actually still with him.

The rain had continued throughout the night, and the clones knew that they were essentially trapped. The muddy trail uphill would be washed smooth by the rain fall, and they'd never get down until it dried out enough to hold up under a clone's weight instead of sliding down. The thunder had intermittently reverberated through the cave, preventing any of them from sleeping.

Red had spent the night tossing and turning, trying to put his failures of the day out of his mind, trying not to think about them, but unable to ignore the fact that he'd done something extremely wrong and hadn't the foggiest idea what it was.

Spader had alternately paced and gone up to the entrance to watch the rain fall, consumed by a number of issues. Would the rain stop before supplies ran out?. A clone could normally go awhile without food, but these guys were so badly abused that they wouldn't last long without it. And what of Jac and Luey?. How was he going to get them up out of that hole?. And Red. Something had to be done about him. Nor could Spader forget the tremor in Jac's voice earlier. Was he hurt bad?. Spader couldn't afford to lose him. These weren't the only issues he was thinking about, but they were the most pressing.

Morning saw no end to the rain. Clones who had been starting to recover fell ill, but they were all alive and accounted for. Even Luey was still hanging on somehow. But when Spader called down to Jac, he got no reply. He didn't know it, but Jac had slipped further into his fear.

As exhaustion sank in, the barriers Jac had put up to resist the fear had broken down. He sat like a lump next to the prone Luey, staring blankly at the wall across from him, arms folded across his chest. For the second time in recent memory, he'd had all he could stand.

Without waiting for permission, Red slid down into the hole. Spader tried to call him off, fearing losing Red in addition to Jac, but Red either didn't hear or wasn't listening.

Red went to Luey first, checking for a pulse at the unconscious trooper's neck. He found one. Seemed fairly strong and steady. Red looked up from Luey to Jac.

"You hurt?," he asked.

Jac didn't move. Red eased his way over and snapped his fingers in Jac's face. Jac's eyelids fluttered as though trying to protect him from something flying at his face and he shifted his body slightly away, but that was it. Red rocked back on his heels thoughtfully. He'd seen a lot of this yesterday, but hadn't expected it in Jac. Jac wasn't cracked, not like the rest of these guys. He'd seemed pretty together yesterday.

For lack of anything better to do, Red checked Luey over more thoroughly. Jac had done everything he'd been taught, so there wasn't much else for Red to do. He moved over to see if Jac was hurt in some way.

On being touched, Jac flinched away, but didn't lash out. He didn't look at Red, but stared on past him at nothing in particular. Red bit his tongue and leaned back again, giving Jac some space. He knew he'd done something wrong yesterday, and he knew it had something to do with how he'd handled things. Something he said or did had very nearly spelled disaster. He didn't want to repeat that.

"Jac, can you hear me?," he asked.

There was a flicker in Jac's eyes. He heard, but either didn't understand or didn't care. Red fell silent, chewing on his lower lip while he tried to think the situation out.

This was one of many things they didn't teach you how to deal with. Funny, he was taught to be a soldier from birth, and here he didn't know what to do when one of his brothers snapped. He guessed maybe nobody thought about clones going mental.

He thought to yell up to Spader what was going on, and ask for his input. But there seemed something wrong in that. It wouldn't be right for him to speak of Jac's weakness. Jac deserved better than to become one of the deluded, being basically herded from one place to another. Red needed to get his attention somehow. He couldn't be that far gone, right?.

"Dammit, you can't do this," Red growled, though he hadn't meant to say it aloud "you can't cut out like this. You've got no right to. We still need you. Don't you realize that?. You can't just break down, not like these other guys. You've got to pull your load,"

Jac blinked, but that was the only reaction he showed. Still, some was better than none.

"So you're a little scared. You think you're the only one with issues?. Some of these guys ate poison and they're still here. You want to talk about problems, let's talk about Luey. He fell down this hole and hasn't woken up since. How's that for problems?," Red kept his voice carefully level, trying to sound reasonable rather than accusatory

"All you've got to do is sit around and wait for somebody to get you up out of here. Until then, you don't have near the troubles those other guys have got. You don't have to try to climb the hill out there, or look for food, or even figure out how to get out of this hole,"

Jac blinked again, and flinched. Something had struck home. He was getting a reaction.

"Look at me, Jac," Red did his best to imitate Spader's command tone "not at that wall. At me."

Jac's head turned. He was looking at Red. He blinked again, and his eyes began to clear a little. He recognized Red, was listening to him now.

"That's right, get down off of whatever mental ledge you're sitting on. Get back here and do your job. This boy here, he needs you to keep your head. Sarge will need you sensible when you get back topside. So don't you dare cut out!. You're not done yet."

A shudder ran through Jac. Slowly, almost questioningly, he nodded once. He heard and understood.

"That's better," Red told him "now I want you to check Luey's vitals and go over the supplies in the med-kits. We need to know exactly what we have,"

Jac moved to obey in a sort of mechanical fashion, still looking dazed. Red's orders had been unnecessary in some ways. But Jac needed to do something besides sit there with whatever terror which had tried to swallow him, and it was all Red could think of.

"That's right. You do your job, Sarge'll do his," Red encouraged.

* * *

The day passed. A kind of mute depression had settled over the new camp. Everyone knew that they didn't have much in the way of food, and had no way of getting more until the rain stopped and the path dried out. They were trapped here, and had nothing to do except for sleep and check their equipment.

Red hadn't felt any of this. He'd been busy trying to return Jac to reality from whatever dimension he'd wandered off to. In the evening, Jac went to sleep, and Red let him. Sleep would do him good. Or Red hoped so, anyway. What did he know about psychology?.

Luey had woken up about mid-afternoon and put up with Red pouring some water into him before drifting off again. He'd asked about where they were, but hadn't stayed awake long enough to hear the reply.

Red spent a good portion of the evening and night examining the walls of the hole. He could see how he and Jac might be able to at least start trying to climb back up. A few footholds here and there. But Luey was another matter entirely. How were they going to get him topside?.

Eventually, Red decided to sleep on it. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before and was tired by the exertion of the past two days. It turned out that he was more tired than he'd realized. He went to sleep immediately and didn't wake up until long after dawn had arrived outside.

Red woke up to someone walking around. Opening his eyes, he saw Jac examining the cave walls, as Red had done the day before. Red lay unmoving, pretending he was still asleep. He wanted to watch for awhile, to see if he could figure out what Jac had that he didn't. There was something special about Jac, different, but Red couldn't for the life of him figure it out.

Jac found the holds Red had identified the day before, and actually climbed up a little ways, maybe to see if it could be done. Then he eased back down to the bottom of the hole. His face bore a look of intense concentration. He was thinking about how to get Luey up top, Red could tell.

Jac tilted his head back and looked up, up and up to the rim of the hole. He apparently didn't like what he saw, because he blew through his nose irritably. He shook his head, and went to another side of the hole. Here too, he climbed up a little ways, then hopped back down. Red couldn't stand it any longer.

"What are you doing?," he asked, without getting up.

"Looking for a way out," Jac replied mildly "what else?."

"Obviously," Red said "but what's with the climbing up and down?. What's that about?."

"Testing."

"Testing for what?."

"Think about it," was the curt reply.

Red thought about it. Jac, meantime, went to another spot and tested it out.

"You're not... surely...," what had dawned on Red seemed absurd "you can't possibly-..."

"I claimed responsibility for Lue when I called his name to join this scouting party. He is my responsibility until I return him to Spader in one piece."

"But... that's not possible, not with that wall."

"It is if I can find the right footholds."

Red didn't even try to point out that both he and Jac were physically much weaker than they ought to be. They could barely hold themselves up, forget carrying Luey.

"Here," Jac said.

Red got up and went to inspect what Jac had found.

"What am I seeing?," Red asked.

"We can climb up, side by side. Instead of carrying Lue, we pass him up."

"Will that work?"

"It's the only thing that can. We can't carry him, but we can hang onto him."

"That will take some doing," Red said, looking up to the top of the hole "a lot of work."

"Don't tell me you're afraid to get your hands dirty," Jac said.

Red turned to retort, but saw in Jac's face that he was joking. He knew Red wasn't afraid of work.

"Let's get to it then," he said, then shook his head "this is gonna take all day."

"You got something else to do, Red?," Jac asked.

* * *

The rain had stopped. Maybe if it stayed stopped and the sun came out, tomorrow it would be dry enough to go and look for food. That would be good.

"Hey, Sarge, come look at this."

Spader looked up to see a clone sitting near the hole's edge, looking down. He went over to see what was so interesting. What was so interesting was Jac and Red making a careful, if a bit unorthodox ascent. They were already about halfway up, one clinging precariously to the wall, holding Luey between his body and the wall, the other climbing up to a point, then halting, turning. The one below passed Luey to the one above, and the process was repeated.

They weren't making very fast headway, but it was pretty steady. It gathered a small crowd.

Neither Jac nor Red noticed their audience, even when they halted to rest for a bit. As Red had predicted it took most of the day and, more than once, they nearly fell all the way back to the bottom. But they eventually made it to the top, where other troopers helped them by taking Luey and then giving Red and Jac a hand up.

At the top, they lay side by side, panting for many minutes before finally rolling over and getting up.

"Are you two alright?," Spader asked.

"Fine, Sarge," Jac replied brightly "how are things up here?"

Red never did mention Jac's moment of weakness, nor did Jac mention Red's mistake. Neither episode was worth considering so far as they were concerned. It was over and done with and that was that.

* * *

"How do you do that?," Red asked the next morning.

Jac had just talked one demented clone out of jumping down in the hole to see what it was like. It had seemed for a moment like somebody would have to tackle the clone to keep him from jumping, but Jac had just talked him right out of it.

"Do what?," Jac asked.

"Get people to do what you want so easily?."

Jac tilted his head, confused. He'd never thought about it. Not really.

"I suppose I just read the situation and the person and try to decide what the best thing to do is," Jac shrugged finally "just a little respect and common sense. Why?."

"It's sure annoying," Red commented "you make the rest of us look bad."

"Oh really?," Jac laughed "maybe you should try it then."

"What?"

"Thinking."

Red gave Jac a shove, but it was a playful one. Jac's comment had been delivered in the same manner.

* * *

Jac looked back. He wasn't looking for what he'd left behind, but what he'd brought with him. About fifteen or twenty yards behind him, two clones were struggling through the tall weeds, which seemed to fight back as though they had no intention of letting the troopers pass through.

Jac remembered when this was just dirt and scraggly weeds. A good rain had turned that around in just a short time. Long enough, however, that these two had recovered sufficiently to work. Neither one remembered escaping the Madhouse, nor the long trek it had taken to reach the cave which had become the clones' base of operations. One had been deathly ill with poison, the other had been injured and also near death. Neither one was doing great, but well enough that Jac had picked them to accompany him on this particular mission.

Nobody knew where the clones were, or even that they were still alive. They had been captured and tortured by Separatists in a facility they all referred to as the Madhouse. An explosion had given them opportunity to escape, and they had. But they had no radios and very limited rations. In spite of the plentiful flora, very little of it was edible. They could find enough to get by, for now.

Extensive discussion between Sergeant Spader, Red and Jac had resulted in a conclusion nobody was happy with. They had to return to the Madhouse. Understandably, most of the clones were uneasy about that idea. Red had suggested that only a few need go. Jac had seconded the motion.

Naturally, Red wanted to go. But Jac knew the facility better. They couldn't very well both go. Spader frequently depended on the two of them. Though they held no official rank over the others, it was generally recognized that they were leaders of scouting parties or anything of the like.

So Jac had picked two clones, Gunshy and JK.

Gunshy had possessed a different name before his arrival here, but nobody remembered what it was. He was a medic, and had a peculiar phobia of rifles. If you handed him one, he'd drop it like it burned and jump back, a little wild eyed. He didn't know where he'd gotten it. He said he'd used a rifle before, and didn't have anything against using them. He just... couldn't seem to hold one.

JK was, or had been, a sniper. Unfortunately, in addition to having taken a heavy dose of poison, the unfortunate trooper had received a head injury that left him blind in one eye. He often made light of it, or tried to, but anybody could see that he felt that he was useless with only one good eye.

It might seem strange to pick the two clones with the lowest self esteem, but it was no mistake on Jac's part. Both had put up heavy resistance, each claiming that he was more worthless than the other. Jac knew the real reason, the reason they had not even admitted to themselves. They were afraid. They were terrified of returning to the Madhouse, and Jac didn't blame them. But they weren't the only ones to feel that way, any clone would feel that same fear.

As the two clones caught up, Jac turned to look at where they were headed. It wasn't far now.

"You really think that place is abandoned?," JK asked when he came up alongside Jac.

"It seems likely," Jac replied neutrally "if not, why has no one come looking for us?."

"Maybe it's not worth their time," Gunshy suggested, puffing after climbing up the hill.

"Armed clone troops, who know the location of the facility. Not worth their time. Does that make sense?," Jac asked, genuinely wanting Gunshy to think about it.

A shiver ran down Jac's spine as he looked on the only part of the facility that was above ground. It was a cold building, looking disturbingly out of place here in what seemed to be the wilderness.

The clones, in spite of having scouted some distance, had seen no signs of civilization, or Separatist troops. The planet was empty, the Separatists had left after the explosion. Probably to continue elsewhere. Jac supposed it was possible they had more than one Madhouse. That was a chilling thought, one Jac decided it best not to dwell on.

"Let's go,"

* * *

Anakin Skywalker and his Padawan Ahsoka Tano had been looking for the missing clones for some time now. They'd come to the planet on grounds of rumors. They located a single structure that fit Separatist specifications, and had gone down to investigate.

At the first, it had looked abandoned. Going inside after checking around outside, they found the air to be stale, with hints of smoke. Evidence of fire was everywhere. And too, there was a sense of evil, of wrongness to the place. Even though it appeared empty, the Jedi kept expecting some monster to leap from the shadows, or for the smoke to come alive somehow. Even the clone troopers could feel it.

This was a place of Death, as a breathing entity, as real and solid as anything. As though there had been so much death here, that it had finally brought form to suffering. The air hung heavy with the presence of Death, decay and evil seemed to slither at its feet.

"I don't like it here," Ahsoka commented warily as she and the others made their way down some stairs to a lower level "something isn't right."

"Nothing is right here," Anakin replied quietly.

The air seemed to grow thicker lower down, the floor, walls and even the ceiling were black from smoke and ash. There were little piles of black dust, which gave no hint of what they had once been. Anakin cast worried eyes towards the ceiling, half-expecting something to leap down on him.

When they started encountering multiple hallways, Anakin told Captain Rex to dispatch clones in various direction. He sent small groups off, telling them not to split up, whatever they did. This was no place to be alone, he did not have to add.

Eventually, Anakin, Ahsoka and Rex were all that was left. They found themselves in what looked to be a cell block. Metal doors hung askew, revealing scorched cells with piles of ashes which must have been bodies once, now burned into dust. The doors had been open, yet whoever these souls were, they had stayed. Had the fire prevented escape?. Or was it... something worse?.

Anakin felt a shudder trying to run down his spine, but he shrugged it off. He noticed Ahsoka was hanging closer to him than usual. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Rex had, in fact, halted halfway down the hall. Noticing Anakin's look, he tried to fall in nonchalantly.

Through another door, into a place which belonged in Hell. Instruments of torture had survived the flames, blackened now but still intact, radiating a sense of horror from deep within. Ahsoka peered through a door into a small room, and then immediately retreated, looking sick. Anakin didn't ask what she'd seen. He didn't need to. It was all around.

A cloud of ash, disturbed by their movement, fell from the ceiling. Rex caught the motion in the corner of his eye and dodged it, bringing his weapon to bear before realizing he had nothing to shoot at. Taking a steadying breath, he lowered his weapon.

"Can we get out of here?. Please?," Ahsoka asked quietly "nobody survived this. They couldn't have."

Rex didn't put in his two cents, as he hadn't been asked, but he did sort of shift his weight in the direction they'd come from. He was eager to regroup with his men, and to be out of here.

"Yeah," Anakin said after a moment "let's go."

The clones had been here. They had been captured somehow, locked away, tortured, beaten, killed... maybe worse than that even. And nobody had known, or cared enough to find out until it was too late. Nobody had come to save them.

Anakin felt sick to his stomach. He knew, or maybe could sense, that there had been no reason for this. Clones hadn't been tortured for information. Just for fun. For fun!.

They had just returned through the cell block when someone, or something, came around the corner. Ahsoka acted on instinct, hurling whatever it was back against a wall.

The person yelped, startled and gasped when the wind was knocked out of him.

"Ahsoka!," Anakin said, more ferociously than he intended.

At the same time, the assaulted person gave a cry of his own.

"Stand down!."

Anakin turned to look to the fallen individual, a clone, somewhat startled. Then he realized that two more clones were just beyond the corner, one in a defensive crouch with rifle raised. At word from his brother, the clone lowered his weapon.

"I'm sorry, Master," Ahsoka said quietly "I acted without thinking."

The clone she'd hit got unsteadily to his feet, took a few experimental breaths and then shook himself, evidently to make sure he was still in one piece.

"General Skywalker, I apologize for my abrupt entrance. I had no idea that-"

"Wait... do I know you?," Anakin knew almost as soon as he'd asked "Jac?. Is that you?."

"That it is, Sir."

"What are you doing here?," Anakin asked.

"Well, in a way, Sir... I guess I was looking for you."

"Can we get the explanations somewhere other than here?," Ahsoka asked Anakin.

"Right, yes," Anakin nodded.

He and Ahsoka led the way. Jac and the two clones with him fell in meekly. Rex gave them a visual inspection as they did so. They seemed to have kept their armor in good condition, had most of their equipment anyway. One limped pretty badly. And every one of them looked scared to death.


	7. Quality of Mercy 1

**Part 3 – The Quality of Mercy**

"_People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges."  
Aristotle _

* * *

The Clone found it incredible and somehow unbelievable. With all that he had done in service to the Jedi and Republic and never been given reward, it seemed strange to him that he should receive promotion for the mere act of survival.

But he had, and now he had to live with it. The Clone found himself now a sergeant, and bewildered to be such. Jac had spent so long answering to sergeants that the idea of other troops answering to him, and referring to him as Sergeant... it seemed very alien.

He didn't want the promotion. It was possible that he was the only clone trooper to not want to get promoted. But he preferred life be simple. And never was life so simple as when he was following orders given by someone else. Still, he was never one to complain.

Life gave him what it would, and he took what it offered gratefully. He knew of no other way to be.

"Sergeant Jac, your men are waiting for you."

"Thank you."

Jac had no idea what his squad looked like. His life had become something of a whirlwind since he'd been rescued from the Madhouse planet (he didn't bother remembering its name). Being shuffled from place to place, debriefed and asked to write what seemed like a thousand reports, promoted at some point, then shunted about as the army tried to figure out exactly what to do with him.

He hadn't seen his fellow survivors since their rescue, but assumed each and every one of them was going through much the same thing. The army could be remarkably disorganized at times.

Jac's squad had assembled in the ship hanger, and snapped to attention when he arrived. Several rookies. Well, Jac was used to that. Sometimes it seemed as though the army was made up entirely of rookies and veterans and very little else.

He recognized his medic at once. Gunshy had also survived the ordeal in the Madhouse. Jac wondered if he'd gotten over his fear of guns. Seemed like he must have. Jac also recognized others. JK, also a survivor. He'd lost an eye, but it looked like he had an artificial one now.

Jac was surprised to also see Red and Luey, two other survivors. When he'd met them, they had been serving under Sergeant Spader. He wondered what had changed. Maybe he'd ask eventually. Maybe not, he wasn't sure.

The final one he recognized was a trooper he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Bristler!. I didn't expect to see you again."

"Jac?. Or is it something else now?. What with you being a sergeant and all."

JAC stood for Just Another Clone.

"Being sergeant doesn't mean anything special, Bristler," Jac told him "it's just a rank and a list of responsibilities."

Rounding out the squad were three rookies named Nap, Six and Tag.

Jac had already met the lieutenant he answered to: a Lt. Vector.

Jac conducted his first formal inspection somewhat artlessly. He'd been inspected by those of higher rank many times. He should know by heart what he was looking for. But now he was here, he couldn't seem to remember anything. He knew he had to make a good first impression, even on the men who'd already met him. They had to trust him as their sergeant. If they didn't, it could cost them their lives.

After deciding he had paced up and down the line as many times as he could make excuses for, he dismissed the men. They filed off, heading to where their assigned bunks were. They'd polished up to meet their sergeant, and now they were going to do the other thing clones liked to do: sleep.

That is, all expect Red, who hung back.

"Jac, I mean... Sir, I mean-"

"Take it easy, before you hurt yourself," Jac said quietly.

"Yes sir. I... I didn't know you were our new sergeant."

"Neither did I until I walked in here," Jac replied.

"Strange things happen in the military, don't they?," Red wondered.

"That they do," Jac replied.

He turned and made as if to follow the others, who'd already disappeared. He waited for Red to fall in with him. Far as he was concerned, not much had changed. He had every intention of doing his job, and taking care of the men he worked with.

"It's gonna be strange, calling you Sergeant," Red admitted.

"No stranger than you taking orders from me," Jac smiled amiably "that'll be a first."

"Well, you can count on me. I hope you know that."

"I know," Jac said.

They walked in silence. When they got to their sleeping quarters, Jac hesitated.

"What's wrong?," Red asked.

"Nothing. But... I think I'm going to walk somewhere."

"Suit yourself," Red shrugged "but, if you don't mind, I'd like to sleep. It wasn't easy getting here."

"I can imagine," Jac replied.

Jac wasn't used to wandering aimlessly about a ship. But somehow it didn't feel right to go to sleep just now. He felt like he ought to be thinking about something, doing something. He realized that he was once again an outsider. His rank inevitably made him such. It distanced him from the men, in a way he couldn't even begin to understand, or hope to explain.

But Jac was used to being alone.

* * *

"Have you ever seen Jac look so scared?," JK asked.

He did so quietly, so those who didn't know Jac wouldn't hear him.

"I've never seen him scared. Period," Bristler replied.

"What's he got to be scared of?," Luey wondered.

"Us," this comment was made by Red.

"Us?. What's scary about us?."

"Think about it, Gunshy. Lemme know when you've figured it out."

* * *

It wasn't an easy squad that had been put together. In all, there were four rookies (Luey, Nap, Six and Tag), two stubborn hot heads (Red and Bristler), a medic who was scared of guns (Gunshy, who was being kept in the army because of his medical skill and little else) and a specialized sniper (JK).

Red and Bristler butted heads from the word go, hating each other on sight. Most of the squad made fun of Gunshy for his fears (which did nothing for his frail ego). There were other problems.

Nap had gotten his name courtesy of a tendency to go to sleep anywhere, anytime. This included while piloting a ship, during inspections and (sometimes) in the middle of lunch. Nobody quite knew how he'd made it through training. Jac never bothered to wonder. The fact that Nap had made it through training and was now Jac's problem was all he needed to know about it.

As usual, Jac's problems seemed unlimited and mostly unsolvable. For some reason Jac didn't understand, Lt. Vector seemed to hate him and was out to get him from the start. On top of that, his squad was serving beneath a Jedi who was of the opinion that clones either didn't, or shouldn't, think.

General Sofiane and his Padawan, Iako Shay were never intentionally cruel to their clones. Unlike some, they counted the clones as living beings, which could be hurt and had physical limitations. However, Sofiane's tendency to regard clones in the same way one might look upon livestock was fast rubbing off on Iako, whose respect for living things was somewhat less than her master's.

Sofiane appeared human, save for red skin with black marks on his ears, above his eyes and on his hands. Both eyes were also red, of a somewhat darker shade. Iako was human, blond with blue eyes.

Jac's first head-on encounter with Sofiane and Iako were when they came to inspect the new squad. Sofiane looked them over dispassionately, showing little interest. Iako, however, spotted something she didn't like, and latched onto it.

"Sergeant!."

For a moment, Jac didn't realize she was addressing him. He was startled to hear a Padawan speak loudly and with authority in the current situation.

"Yes sir?."

"It seems one of your men is asleep," Iako gestured to Nap, who was listing off to the side.

"Yes sir," Jac answered meekly.

"What's your excuse?."

"None, Sir," there was no other reply for him to make.

"What's his excuse?," Sofiane spoke for the first time, his voice a mild rumble.

Jac fidgeted. It was one thing to admit to his own incompetence, another to throw one of his men under the bus. He swallowed nervously, then found his tongue.

"You'd have to ask him, Sir."

"See that it doesn't happen again," Sofiane said, as if the matter was of little importance "you're dismissed. Be sure and take that one with you," he gestured to Nap.

"Yes sir," Jac replied.

As the clones filed off, Bristler smacked Nap in the back of the head. That woke him up.

"Wha?-huh?,"

"Shut up," Bristler hissed angrily "before you get us in any more trouble."

He propelled Nap from the room, looking over his shoulder warily. The Jedi had already moved on to other concerns. Clones didn't hold much interest for them.

* * *

"What are we gonna do about Nap?," Luey asked later on.

"Take him out back and shoot him is my vote," Bristler piped up.

"Or we could shoot you instead," Red snapped.

"I hope Sarge doesn't can him," Tag said.

"Better for us if he does," Six grunted "we'll all live longer, including him."

"How 'bout it, doc?. Any stimulants you can use to keep him awake?," Red asked hopefully.

"Of course not, don't be absurd," Gunshy was horrified by the idea.

"Just a thought," Red sighed.

The clones bedded down that night with no idea how to solve their problem. They were naturally protective of those in their squad, even now when they barely knew each other. They wanted to protect Nap, their squad's reputation and, to a lesser degree, their sergeant.

What they didn't realize was that it hadn't even occurred to Jac that he _could_ do anything about Nap. Jac was accustomed to accepting the hand dealt him without complaint or protest. He didn't realize that he had not only responsibility as a sergeant, but also power.

He was too long used to having the former without benefit of the latter.

* * *

"How is it that, no matter where we get dropped, we're always the first ones down?. And, besides that, why is it that we're always taking point?," Bristler growled.

It had been two, or was it three?, weeks since Jac had been placed in charge of the squad. They'd been working almost continuously for all that time. During that time, Jac had broken up countless fights between Bristler and just about everybody (especially Red). On the first run out, he'd been shot in the arm pulling Nap out of harm's way when, true to form, the latter went to sleep on the battlefield. He'd suffered through numerous complaints from every trooper in the squad about having to protect Gunshy. He'd listened to Gunshy's endless torrents of self-pity (always taking the form of self-loathing). Vector had constantly been breathing down his neck to get things done faster, more efficiently and so on.

They'd just finished a long battle with droids. There'd been plenty of hide-and-seek and it had been a steady two days of shooting, marching, shooting some more. They seemed no closer to their goal of taking control of a city in order to establish a safe landing zone. They hadn't found the city yet.

Tonight, they'd dug themselves some foxholes, where Jac intended for them to remain until dawn unless he received orders to the contrary (which had happened on more than one occasion). He didn't like driving troopers to their limits. Then you had nothing left over should something come and surprise you. This was liable to be a long campaign, and Jac didn't want his men to begin dropping like flies as he'd seen entire squads do too many times before.

"Face it, the Jedi hate us," Gunshy moaned "they wish we were dead."

"_I_ wish you were dead," Bristler responded, then yelped when Red elbowed him in the stomach.

"Shy, Jedi don't care about the likes of us enough to hate us," Red said.

Jac didn't provide any input. He just lay in the dark, listening. Anything he said would end the conversation, he'd learned. Nobody dared argue with their sergeant.

"I think it's Vector. The guy's bad news, that's what he is," Tag put in "I heard he once shot a trooper for looking at him sideways."

It was a rumor which had been told about virtually every soldier in charge of anything. Jac didn't put any stock in it. He didn't get the feeling Vector was evil. Just... he didn't like Jac. So what else was new?. Jac was used to being disliked.

What he wasn't used to was others paying the price for it.

* * *

Though Jac was not on watch, it was he who heard. Or that's what he convinced himself later. It is of interest to note, however, that he didn't at first know what woke him up. He only later concluded that it had been a sound. He peered out of his foxhole warily.

The air was still, almost unnaturally so. Jac looked up at the sky. It looked clear. But the heavy, almost toxic feeling of the air was what one often felt before the storm. The so-called calm.

A volley of blaster fire unleashed in the night shattered the calm. It came off to the left, where another squad had dug in for the night.

Almost on automatic, Jac swung his weapon up. He couldn't see in the dark. He snatched his helmet from where it lay in the dirt, glad it had night vision. He ordered his awakening men to put their helmets on and use night vision.

The fire fight had barely begun, but the droids were everywhere. Nobody knew where they'd come from, because nobody had heard or seen them coming. Jac didn't like their odds in the foxhole, but he liked the odds out in the open even less.

"Hold your positions!," he hissed as his men shifted uneasily.

They were trapped, and had the low ground. They didn't like it one bit. But they had nowhere to go.

The oppression in the air had not been an illusion. The sky grayed out, bringing on the dawn, but was quickly blocked out by a heavy black cloud of dust. The air, formerly so still, began to move. A sudden wind whipped it into a frenzy.

"Sarge!," Red tapped him on the shoulder.

Jac turned, and realized with horror that their battlefield was about to be in the middle of a windstorm.

"Get down!. Get down!," Jac shouted as the first cloud of dust arrived.

Those who didn't obey were soundly trounced by the wind. It knocked them down into their holes. A few clones, though not Jac's, were actually flung forcibly out of their holes for not getting down. Not by other clones, but the wind itself.

The wind was powerful enough to knock clones and droids alike off their feet. Even the tanks which had arrived squealed as they fought against the wind. Jac kept his head down, hoped his men did the same, as the wind whirled overhead, nature claiming supremacy over all else.

The wind roared so loud nobody could hear anything above it. The dust flew so thick that it made seeing a pure impossibility. Though it wouldn't protect his eyes because his helmet was doing that, Jac still instinctively closed his eyes.

Something rumbled overhead. Jac didn't know it, but a walker had been tipped over by the wind, and landed directly on top of the hole he and his men were presently inhabiting. All Jac knew was that the rumbling was awful, and there was some sort of high pitched squealing going on. Metal was tearing itself apart, groaning as the wind tried to rip it to pieces.

Jac couldn't hear it, but the blaster fire went on. Both clones and droids fired blind, sometimes unintentionally. Sergeants desperately tried to get their panicked men under control. The sudden attack, combined with the weather, had sent them all into a state of shock, and nobody was thinking clearly.

The moaning overhead went away as the walker swept on by. But it left Jac open to the wind, which managed to snatch him from where he crouched. He was flung out into the open on solid ground, which he hit with a jarring thud. Jac rolled helplessly, not even trying to stop himself, instead just trying to prevent himself from being too badly injured.

He bounced off of things which he didn't identify, they could have been other rocks, tanks, other clones or even droids for all he knew. Out here in the open, he could hear cries of helpless terror as clones like him were captured by the wind and tossed about. He wondered if he was yelling too. How would he tell?. He decided not to think about it.

At last, it seemed as though the wind tired of its game. It had proven it was superior to these so-called soldiers. Jac was dropped like a rock, and struck against something hard. He blacked out momentarily.

When he came to, the wind had stopped. Dust hung thick in the air, and it was hard to see.

After checking himself over and deciding he wasn't badly hurt, Jac got to his feet. What he'd finally run into was a tank, but the droids which had manned it were gone. Jac tried the radio, but it just screeched at him, too full of dust to do anything else.

_Typical,_ Jac thought to himself.

He set off to relocate his squad, and hopefully regroup with the others as well. He didn't know how far he'd been thrown, but it couldn't have been very far, not if he bounced off a tank.

He was proven right when he fell into a foxhole because he couldn't see it. There was a shout of protest, then of recognition.

"Sarge!. You're alive!."

"Of course I'm alive. You can't get rid of me that easily, Red. Where are the others?."

"Some of them managed to stick in here. We're missing Bristler, Shy, Six and Nap."

"Is anyone injured?."

"Not that they've let on, but I can't see through this soup," Red replied.

"That'll have to do," Jac said "come on, we've got men to find."

"Yes sir."


	8. Quality of Mercy 2

The clones were reluctant to call out to one another, knowing that there could be droids lurking nearby. They couldn't be sure of anything they saw (or, as was more often the case, didn't see) until they were almost on top of it. Now and then a blaster shot would be fired, indicating a clone and droid had met one another. It was also possible that two of either had met and failed to recognize their ally.

It was Luey who, quite literally, tripped over Nap. At first, he thought Nap was just asleep, but a closer inspection revealed a hole in the center of his helmet's visor. He'd been shot dead. Jac wondered if he'd been awake at the time. Possibly not.

Looking very closely, Jac determined that it had been a clone's weapon. A rifle, to be precise. Naturally, all of them assumed that somebody had come on Nap suddenly and, startled, fired without being sure what he was shooting at. This would have been especially likely if Nap fell asleep standing up, as he so often had before.

"Years of training," Red murmured, shaking his head "and all it took was a little wind to have us all at each other's throats."

"For him, a swift end was inevitable," Jac said quietly.

"If I could just get my hands on the idiot who graduated him," Red growled.

They fell silent as they continued to look for their missing. They found Gunshy sitting on the remains of a droid (he said he'd found it that way, though it looked to everyone else as though someone had torn the thing to shreds by hand). Bristler and Six took a few shots at them before recognizing their fellow clones. That finished off the squad.

A quick equipment check proved that nobody had a radio that worked. Even if they did, it seemed unlikely anyone they would try to contact had a working radio either.

"You get used to it," Jac said, when Tag worriedly wondered what they would do without radios.

"Yeah," Red chipped in, giving Tag a rough pat on the shoulder "who needs radios when you've got friends like these?."

Tag mistakenly took the comment seriously, and was very quiet for several hours as he tried to discover exactly what Red meant by that.

"So what do we do?," Red asked Jac quietly "we can't just keep stumbling around here in a dust cloud forever. The longer we hang out here, the more likely it is we'll follow Nap and get shot by our own guys. Or shoot our own guys."

"We follow our orders, of course," Jac replied sensibly "we advance toward the city. Everyone else will be doing the same. Probably some already have. Our hold up was that we needed to locate all our guys."

Red couldn't argue with that, and so just shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Sarge," he turned to relay this to the others "alright boys, we're movin' out!. This ain't no dry run, so be sure you keep in sight because we're not comin' back this way for a long time."

Jac couldn't say much for Red's style, but he found that it came as some kind relief to have Red tell the others. It gave Jac a few seconds to sort things out in his mind. To gather himself and be sure of which direction they were going, and to decide who belonged on point.

"JK, you've got the best eyesight. Can you see anything through this dust?," Jac asked.

"A little bit," JK replied.

"Alright, you'll be on point until this stuff thins out a little," Jac said "and remember, just because you can see it, doesn't mean the rest of us can."

"Right, Sarge."

Jac stood and watched the others fall in behind JK, one after the other. It felt good to do a head count, just to be absolutely sure he had the lot of them. It was a lot harder to look after men than equipment, he realized. But the men were like the equipment in that they were his to take care of and use, but they were not his to break or lose track of. He was meant to look after them and make sure they returned in the same condition they'd gone out in.

Small wonder most sergeants went a little crazy after losing men from their squad. Jac didn't expect he'd be one of them. He'd realized long ago that there were things beyond his control, things he was unaware of or incapable of understanding. All he could do was his best, the rest would have to just take care of itself one way or the other.

"Sarge, you want my advice?," Red, the last in line, asked.

"You'll give it to me anyway," Jac said, falling in beside him.

"Sir, with respect, I don't think a squad's sergeant belongs at the back of the line," Red said "a dead sergeant ain't no good to nobody."

"Point taken, Red."

* * *

When the dust began to clear out a bit, Jac moved JK down from point. He picked Luey to go on point next. Point was a dangerous position, and he didn't like to leave anybody there for too long, but he also couldn't just pick anyone to go on point. Bristler would likely shoot the first thing he saw without thinking, Gunshy had no gun to defend himself with, JK's specialized sight seemed too valuable to lose, and many of the rookies weren't alert enough to be reliable. Point was a risky place to be, but it was also where you'd get your first warning from.

_You worry too much about your men, Jac,_ one part of his mind told him, _what difference does one clone more or less really make?._

_Every day you survive is another day you can fight,_ the other part of his mind reasoned.

Jac had never noticed it, but the split personality in his mind seemed to be a conflict of training and experience, one side saying one thing and the other saying something else entirely. He wondered if all clones carried on conversations in their head.

His argument with himself was interrupted by Luey dropping down and bringing his weapon up. The other clones fell like dominoes. They didn't need any other signal, nor did they need to know what Luey had seen. Jac cautiously moved up beside Luey.

"What have you got?," he asked quietly.

"Movement. Don't know what yet," Luey replied, not taking his eyes off the area in front of him.

Jac followed Luey's gaze, but couldn't spot anything. Whatever it was, it wasn't moving now. It crossed Jac's mind that maybe it was nothing, that Luey only imagined he saw something. With the dust slowly settling around them, it was a distinct possibility. But he wasn't ready to act on that.

Tensely, they waited to see if whatever it was would move again. For a long time, nothing happened. The clones in the back tried not to fidget. They were anxious to be on their way, to achieve their goal, and to find some place where they could actually see.

There was a sudden sound, one Jac knew well. The thing came at them swiftly, too quick to see what it was. But Jac already knew. He didn't have time to speak, but he did throw up a hand, signaling for the men to hold. A blaze of light closed on his position, and he did the only thing which he had time for.

He threw one arm out to the side, catching Luey in the chest, and fell over on his back. He took Luey with him by force. They both hit the ground just as the light reached where they were.

It hovered over their heads for a moment, a distinct hum circling the air around it.

"Identify yourself," a voice growled.

"Sergeant Jac."

The light withdrew, the sound snapped off like a light. Jac let Luey get up, and slowly got to his feet. They had just found Iako Shay. Or perhaps it was the other way around, Jac wouldn't argue the point.

"How many are with you?," Iako asked, trying to see through the dust, but thoroughly unable.

She, lacking any sort of protective eye wear, was almost entirely blind.

"Just my squad, minus one man."

Iako looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

"We're heading to the city," she announced.

"Yes sir," Jac replied.

They resumed their march. Iako took point of her own accord. Jedi usually did. Possessed of superior senses and reaction time, point was considerably less dangerous for them than for clones. Jac felt a certain sense of relief. He didn't let it carry him away, however.

He knew all too well that not all Jedi could be trusted, especially Padawans. Experience made him cautious, training made him subservient. There were many things he would tolerate from a Jedi that he would not put up with even from a Clone Commander.

* * *

The sound of Iako's light-saber activating, followed by blaster fire, was the only warning the clones got that they were close to the city. They couldn't even see building walls, which were made of sandy colored stone, the same color as the dust choked air.

"Take cover!," was Jac's order, followed by "watch what you're shooting at!," when a trooper (he wasn't sure who) nearly shot him from behind.

With their small numbers, Jac wouldn't have tried to take the city by himself. But it was clear Iako intended to do exactly that. Each time she advanced, the clones followed, Jac taking the lead and the others taking their cues from him.

All the running around and shooting served to kick up more dust. Jac couldn't count the enemy numbers, and lost sight of Iako almost immediately. From time to time, he even lost sight of many of his men, and had to hope they were taking care of themselves.

He couldn't keep track of them all, follow Iako through the dust cloud and keep the droids off his back all at the same time. He ignored everything that he could. Iako could take care of herself, he wasn't responsible for her. His men were trained to behave in a certain fashion when left to their own devices. He had to trust that training to let him know where they were, and to keep them alive.

It was perhaps fortunate that the so-called city was more of a village. Yet, each time Jac thought they were almost finished, more droids seemed to swarm in from nowhere.

"There's too many of them!," Luey yelled once when he and Jac found themselves close together.

"Don't panic. Just keep pushing the line," Jac said, forcing his voice even "if you panic, there really will be too many. Just do your job and we may yet live to see the end of this battle."

When Luey had drifted off, Red fell in beside Jac.

"He's right, you know," Red said quietly "there aren't enough of us to win this."

"Maybe not," Jac replied "but we don't have a choice. We followed Iako in here, and we can't leave her. If nothing else, we can certainly give 'em hell and cut their numbers. Someone else may have to finish the job, but they'll be better off for what we've done."

"Yes sir."

Take a position. Seek out a target. Identify your target. Shoot until it goes down. Check for other targets. Move on. Repeat until all targets are down. Those orders weren't spoken, but generally understood by all. Jac didn't have to tell his men how to fight.

Still, it came as something of a shock when they looked up from their endless repetition of target acquiring to find that the dust had cleared, and that the village streets were littered with bodies of droids, and not one among the clones had fallen.

They regrouped on what looked to be main street, and took it in turns to assure themselves that the others were alive and, more or less, in one piece.

Six had twisted something or the other when he'd been clearing a building and leaped back to avoid the droids which seemed to explode out of it. Tag had taken a shot in the arm, but nothing serious. The rest of them were nothing worse than tired and bruised here and there. Bruises didn't even warrant comment, much less treatment.

"I would have sworn we didn't stand a chance," Red muttered, uttering a low whistle as he looked around at the bodies of droids littering the streets.

"It's having a Jedi that makes the difference," Bristler said "I bet we didn't kill half these things," he gave one of the droid bodies a kick and it threw up some pitiful sparks.

"No," Red disagreed sharply "It's having the Sarge, and don't you dare forget it."

Jac wanted to protest, say he hadn't done anything special. But he knew that Red's statement couldn't really do any harm. And it would make the others that much more inclined to trust him. Their trust and respect was something he needed if he was to keep them effective and alive. So he bit his tongue and pretended he hadn't even heard the exchange.

"How are they?," Jac asked of Gunshy, who was in the process of examining Six.

"They're hurtin' some, but they're good to go," by this he meant that they could continue fighting if necessary and wouldn't require evacuation or protection from their brothers.

"That's something," Jac said.

"I'd say that's about everything," Gunshy observed "I don't know how you did it, Sarge."

"We're the lucky ones, Shy," Jac told him "you can say what you like about training and experience, planning it out and practicing, but it always comes down to luck in the end. All that other stuff is just trying to stack the odds in your favor."

"I don't much believe in luck, Sarge. Or I didn't. After this... I don't know."

"Truth be told, I don't either. Except times like these, I can't explain it any other way," Jac admitted.

"Sarge!."

Jac's head snapped up and he looked around to see that several members of his squad had closed ranks and dropped to defensive positions. From inside one of the buildings, there came a handful of thin, frightened looking people. Their skins seemed almost transparent, and they gazed at the troopers out of large, depthless black eyes.

"Hold your fire!," Jac snapped "these must be the natives."

There were four in all, two were very tall, the others were quite short. One of the little ones had black hair and was clutching what looked like a doll. The others were bald. They were dressed simply in brown fabrics, and they certainly looked unarmed.

"Stand down," Jac told his men, using a calm, steady voice.

Red, he noticed, was the first to respond. The others followed Red's example. Seeing the weapons lowered, the natives shifted and began to inch towards the strangers.

"It's okay," Jac said gently "the shooting's all over with."

The natives look at one another. Maybe they hadn't understood. Jac didn't know. But he had other things to concern himself with. Namely, securing the village, locating Iako and, hopefully, the rest of the clones. He wondered why nobody else had made it here yet. Maybe they had and were dead somewhere. That was an unsettling thought.

"Keep an eye on the natives," Jac whispered to Red "they seem harmless enough, but there's always the possibility that they're Separatist sympathizers."

"Right, Sarge."

"Soon as Shy's done with Six, I want to split up in teams of two. We're looking for any surviving droids, and evidence of brothers who got here before us and weren't so lucky as we were."

"What about the Jedi?," Tag asked.

"The Jedi will find us when she's good and ready," Jac answered.

"Uh, Sarge...," Red interrupted.

Jac looked around to see that more natives were appearing, and they were approaching slowly. Though Jac read their movements as looking friendly enough, there were a lot of them and they were closing around the clones in order to gawk at them.

"Easy," Jac said "they're just curious," _I hope._

A very small native toddled up to Jac. Chubby baby fingers touched the armor at his shin, and traced every dent, scratch and ding. The child looked up at him with wide eyes, and then she made a gurgling sound, possibly a giggle.

A grown native came pushing through the gathering crowd, looking about wildly. Spotting the child, she swept forward, halting a few feet back to gaze at Jac warily. In order to put her at ease, he feigned disinterest, turning to look at his men rather than her. She came forward and snatched the baby to her, then swiftly joined the crowd, running her hands over the young one to assure herself that it wasn't hurt. Jac continued to pretend he didn't notice.

"They're scared of us, alright," Red commented "or the adults are anyway."

"Children don't know any better," Gunshy observed "they're just curious."

"Children have less suspicious minds," Jac said "usually."

Finding her child unhurt, the worried mother looked across the crowd at Jac, a thoughtful look in those strange eyes. She recognized that there had been opportunity for him to harm her daughter. She now questioned why Jac had not taken it.

"What do we do about them crowding around?," Red asked.

"Just go about our business," Jac replied "but keep an eye on them."

The men were uncomfortable with that idea. The natives weren't allies or enemies, so the clones would have preferred to somehow avoid them entirely or make them go away.

"Red, you're with me," Jac said "let's get a better look at this city."

"Right, Sarge."

The rest also split off in pairs, and each pair found themselves followed by a handful of curious natives, mainly young ones. The natives followed them in curious silence. Maybe they couldn't speak. Jac didn't know, but didn't bother trying to figure it out. For the time being anyway, they seemed peaceful enough. So long as they didn't give him trouble, he saw no reason to bother them.


	9. Quality of Mercy 3

"Lt. Vector isn't going to like this, you know," Red commented when they were beyond earshot of the others.

"Like what?," Jac asked, feigning ignorance.

"This city- village -is supposed to have been abandoned by the natives when it was taken over by Separatist troops. What are we going to do about them?," Red gestured vaguely at the five or six natives which were shadowing them.

"So long as they don't show us any hostility, nothing," Jac answered simply "maybe orders will come down to evacuate them, maybe someone will come to negotiate, I don't know. But it's neither our job, nor our problem."

"Lt. Vector isn't going to like it."

"You said that already," Jac reminded him "Frankly, I don't care whether he likes it or not."

"That's dangerous ice your playing on. Vector's got power to make your life Hell. Ours too," Red was referencing the rest of the squad.

"Don't I know it," Jac said "but I can't help that. He's got problems, and his way of dealing with them is to give us problems. And there's not a thing I can do about it. I answer to him, not the other way around. However, without orders, I see no reason to bother these people. Let Vector say what he likes when he gets here."

"And here I thought you were the submissive type."

"Troopers!. Just what do you think you're doing?."

Both Jac and Red looked up at the sound of Iako's voice. She was standing on the slanted roof of one of the buildings, and she didn't look especially happy. Without waiting for reply, she jumped down and landed neatly in front of the two clones.

"Answer my question," she demanded.

"Sir, we're checking the city for wounded, and securing the area," Jac told her.

"Really?," the single word hung like an accusatory sentence "what about them?."

Jac followed her pointing finger to the natives.

"I don't understand," Jac said, then hurriedly added "sir."

"The area is obviously not secure. Not with those... whatever they are wandering about in the streets."

"Sir," Jac shifted uncomfortably as Iako's eyes set on him haughtily "these are the natives. They live here."

"Not anymore they don't. This is a military base now."

"Yes sir. What do you want us to do about them?."

"Isn't it obvious?," Iako looked from Jac to Red, but both wore looks of incomprehension "I want you to kill them, of course."

"What!?... sir?."

"They are an unknown element, therefor they must be treated as an immediate threat to the security of this base. I cannot report back and say this is a safe landing zone until the problem is dealt with."

Jac and Red hesitated. Red looked at Jac. Jac looked at the natives, then back at Iako. Because Jac did not fire, Red did not either.

"Well?. Get your men together and give them their orders."

"With respect, sir... I can't do that," Jac said hesitantly.

It took enormous effort to keep his voice from shaking. This might be a Padawan, but she was still a Jedi to him. Defying her orders meant going against every bit of training and instinct he possessed. He was half surprised that Red didn't shoot him immediately. Disobeying the orders of a Jedi was an inexcusable offense, and all three of them knew it.

"What did you say?."

"I can't order my men to kill these people," Jac repeated, then explained, his voice sounding very weak "because... I can't do it... myself."

"Explain," Iako's voice was hard as steel, she seemed to bite the end of the word and spit it out through her teeth.

"I will not order my men to do something which I can't do myself," Jac felt like he would pass out, his nerves seemed to be crawling on top of one another.

He hid the shaking in his hands by gripping his rifle very tightly. Red was silent behind him, offering no opinion in either direction. Red didn't know how to react. His mouth had fallen open on hearing Jac's refusal, and it seemed impossible to get it closed again. Each time he almost managed it, Jac would say something else and another tremor of shock would run through Red.

"You will do as I tell you," Iako said, eyes flashing angrily.

"Sir, I've got no right to stop you-"

"Or to disobey me," Iako interrupted, but Jac went on as though he hadn't heard her.

"-so you can kill these people if you feel you must. But I can't order my men to fire on them."

"You heard my orders. Obey them!," Iako's voice shook with rage.

"I can not," each word drew out in a sentence, every bit was spoken with effort.

"You treacherous-!," Iako drew her light-saber and swung it upwards.

But when she brought it down, she found herself frozen, inches from Jac. He had dropped to his knees, not to kneel, but to put himself in line with the blow. The light-saber shivered near his neck, Iako stared at him, a horrible knot growing in her belly at the realization of what was happening.

The light-saber withdrew and she turned sharply away. She took only a few paces before she saw the natives. They backed away from her. They had not understood the exchange, but they did understand that Jac had not harmed him. They feared this girl who would do him harm even as he made no move to defend himself from her.

Iako turned back, found that Jac hadn't moved. Though he did his best not to move, Iako could see shudders running through him. She could sense the cold panic running from Red like sweat as his instincts, training and various loyalties fought one another.

"Stand up, Sergeant," Iako's voice was suddenly level, devoid of emotion as she hid behind a mask of calm and tried to work out her feelings.

Jac obeyed without question or hesitation. He stood, and stared straight ahead. He did not look at her, or move any more than necessary to obey the order he'd been given. Iako strode in front of him, and looked up at the clone, who was fully a foot and a half taller than she.

Though he didn't move, she could sense his eyes turning to look at her. She could almost taste his fear, but it was held at bay by something else. Something... more. His resolve wouldn't be shaken, not by her, nor by anything else.

"Who taught you mercy?," Iako asked, her voice still cold.

"Sir?," Jac's head turned slightly, so he could see her better.

"Answer me," Iako's voice was quiet, level, but still dangerous.

"No one," Jac said, after thinking for several moments.

"Then how did you come to learn it?."

Jac's mind raced. He didn't entirely understand what he was being asked. He didn't want to give an answer that would get anybody other than him in trouble, but he couldn't really see a way around it.

"I have witnessed others show compassion, sympathy, and empathy," Jac said slowly, the words seemed unusually difficult to form "I know what it's like... to be shown these things as well."

"So you just... picked it up along the way?," Iako asked "just like that?."

"Experience... teaches a clone... many things," why was it so hard to speak?. Jac had never had so much trouble forming sentences in his life "and not just... about survival either."

"Don't you consider such things to be a sign that you're soft?," Iako demanded.

"No sir. I see nothing soft in letting people who've never hurt you alone. And I see no logic in driving them from their homes, or shooting them down in the street. I see no reason in ending lives where you don't have to. Death shows up often enough as it is."

Iako looked thoughtful for a long moment. Jac was right. She knew she had lost her temper, and let that get the better of her judgment. It seemed strange that a mere clone should remind her of the value of life. If a born and bred killer would hesitate to slaughter these people, perhaps it was time for Iako to step back and review her own beliefs and behaviors.

"Very well," she said finally "but you will be responsible for them until further notice. If they cause any damage, to anything or anyone, I'll have your head yet."

"Yes sir."

"Carry on with what you were doing," Iako walked away.

Jac swallowed hard. He was still shaking, and couldn't seem to move or think. He wasn't yet convinced that he was still alive, or that he was likely to remain that way. Red giving him a slap on the back jolted him to reality.

"You are one crazy son-of-a-bitch," Red told him "what in the Hell did you think you were doing?."

Jac turned to answer Red, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He shook his head slowly.

"I didn't think."

"Yeah well, next time you pull a stunt like that, I'm gonna shoot you," Red said.

"I know... I know," Jac nodded.

"What's the matter with you anyway?. Going against orders like that?. You want to get dead?."

"Not really, no," Jac shook his head "I just... I heard the order... but I couldn't do it. I tried, but... I just couldn't. You think I'm getting soft?."

"In the head, maybe," Red said, giving him a shove "come on, we've still got work to do."

Neither Jac nor Red mentioned the incident to the others. Iako, for her part, said nothing. What she had nearly done was far worse than anything Jac had. It had been so easy, so terribly easy, to tell Jac to kill those people. Faced with doing it herself, Iako found that it was another matter entirely. She could no more kill them than Jac. But she had almost killed him over it, just because she didn't want to admit that it was she who was in error.

Iako avoided Jac after that. She never said another word about his squad, and spoke to him and his men only when there was no way around it. Jac couldn't say he minded. Every time he thought back to that moment when he had defied her, a shiver ran down his spine and his blood went cold.

It was not only the second time in his life that he had disobeyed a Jedi, but also the second time he had been spared. He didn't like it any better this time than the last time.

* * *

When the clones bedded down for the night, a number of the natives continued to hang around and watch them. The squad hadn't found any other clones, nor had any shown up. Jac was more than a little unsettled by that. Where had they gone?. General Sofiane too, for that matter?.

The mother of the child who Jac had met came as the clones were settling in. Jac was sitting up, leaning against the wall of a building. He didn't notice her until she was kneeling beside him. He jumped, and nearly killed her on instinct. She never knew it, because he recovered himself quickly and didn't so much as touch her.

She gazed at him for a long time, black eyes wide open, staring, seeming to see through him and at some point beyond him. Jac shifted uncomfortably, but didn't break eye contact. She reached out with her right hand, and he started to flinch away, but didn't. Her palm came to rest on the left side of his chest. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out at first. When it did, Jac was startled to recognize the single word.

"Hurt," her quiet voice was musical, but there was a heavy sorrow in it.

"I wasn't wounded," Jac said, moving to take her hand away.

She held stubbornly, and continued to stare through him. She repeated the word, more insistently.

"Hurt."

"No," Jac shook his head, then gestured vaguely "two of the other men, but not me."

"You," she pressed her hand down briefly "here."

Understanding dawned. She wasn't talking about a physical injury.

"Don't worry about me," Jac said, taking her hand off his chest "I'm pretty tough."

"You," she said softly "hurt."

"Not in any way that matters," Jac told her.

She said nothing further, but sat with her hands folded in her lap. She didn't stare at Jac anymore, but looked out into the night. Deciding she had no intention of leaving, Jac gave up and settled in. He was on first watch, primarily because he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Not tonight.

Not after what he'd done.

The woman was right. Something inside Jac did hurt. It wasn't really an emotional kind of hurt, but then again he guessed that's the only thing it could be. And it did hurt, just like he'd been shot. He knew he'd done right, or was pretty sure he knew. But that didn't make it hurt any less to have done it. He decided that there was only one thing he could do. And that was to stop thinking about it.

* * *

A few clones trickled in overnight, often in clusters of two and three, not always from the same squad. Every one of them remarked on the number of slain droids, and decided that Jac's squad was very lucky indeed. They asked how the squad had gotten here so fast, and blasted so many droids. Jac and his men could do little but shrug and say it had just sort of worked out that way.

"Man, you couldn't find your hand in front of your face out there in the dust cloud," one clone said emphatically "so how in the Hell did you find your way here?."

All of the squad pointed to their sergeant, who insisted that it must have been luck. As it happened, the name stuck. By the time the sun was up, everyone was referring to Jac's squad as Lucky Squad. Also by that time, many more clones had drifted in, and reported on a number of dead.

The squads were in tatters, with one or two clones from most squads surviving. A couple never even reported in. It made the name Lucky Squad seem all the more appropriate, considering Jac had lost only one man and had managed to locate a Jedi, in addition to accomplishing the set mission.

Red was right, Lt. Vector was extremely unhappy about how Jac had handled the natives. But Jac just shrugged and told him to take it up with Iako. There was no way that was happening.

Sofiane arrived sometime in the afternoon. By this time, the clones had managed to patch together a working radio, which Sofiane used to announce that they had a landing zone. This was confirmed, and then new orders were handed down.

There were other battles to be fought on the planet, and not all that many troops available for it. Only a small regiment could be left to guard the landing zone, the rest would have to move along. This was reduced to a small company (about the size of a platoon) when Sofiane reported the number of casualties that had been suffered over the past day and a half.

Lt. Vector was all too eager to send Jac out again, but Iako put in a different recommendation. She said that Jac had established a kind of rapport with the natives. He was the only one they trusted, and the only one they'd spoken to. Better that he stayed behind with his men.

Because they had lost so many men, the usual ranking system and organization was out the window. They were improvising. They left Lt. Vector in charge, with Jac serving as the only sergeant. The other sergeants were needed to cobble together enough squads to get the job done. They did at least have the decency to promote Red to corporal.

Jac didn't like the sound of it, not at all, but he didn't put forth any protest. Arranging five squads' worth of men seemed like an impossible task to him. But Vector said it couldn't possibly be too difficult. After all, they were just guarding the village, guiding in ships with men and equipment and relaying orders from Sofiane to them. How hard could it be?.

"You know what?," Red said aside to Jac once everything was decided "I'm beginning to hate him."

"Get in line," Bristler grumbled, for once agreeing with Red.

"At least we're not the squad taking point anymore," Gunshy interjected "count your blessings."

"Are you brain dead?. We're on guard duty. Guard. Duty. Incompetent clones get that. Because there's never any action this far from where the battle's going on," Bristler snapped, apparently having wholly forgotten his own last tour as guard of an outpost.

"Which is exactly why we're setting up shields and weapons to combat incoming enemy aircraft and tanks," Red retorted "oh yeah, no action will come our way."

Jac, for his part, said nothing. He'd been on guard duty before. It never ended well for the guards.


	10. The Sacred 1

**Part 4 – The Sacred**

_"It is better to know how to learn than to know"  
Dr. Seuss_

* * *

The Clone listened patiently to his irate lieutenant's tirade. Lt. Vector was almost perpetually displeased one way or another and, with the shoddy structure of the outpost, he had his pick of complaints. It had become a sort of morning ritual for Vector to come and tell The Clone exactly what he thought of him, the daily schedule, the natives, troop deployments and, basically, the whole operation.

The Clone didn't bat an eye, though he noticed that his handful of corporals were struggling not to fidget while they waited for the lieutenant to conclude his speech. Vector had come in late this morning, and The Clone had been in the middle of giving the corporals serving under him their daily assignments, more per regulation than necessity.

"Furthermore, the on-site medical staff are incompetent. I just received another request for equipment, and happen to know for a fact that it came through you," Vector hurled the report onto The Clone's desk, but neither of them spared it a glance "Supplies are not unlimited and you know as well as I do that supply ships are in high demand everywhere."

"I am aware," The Clone replied reasonably, this pause was his first chance to speak in half an hour "and so are they. They are not asking for food or ammunition. Only for the medical supplies to try and save the lives of the troops which we are unable to evacuate because of the shortage of ships."

"What they're asking for is impossible. If there is an emergency and we don't have any extra equipment stored away to deal with it... Jac, surely even you can understand the reasons for having stockpiles."

"I understand only that good soldiers are fighting and dying, and it's our job to ensure the ones who come here wounded live to fight another day. A stockpile is all well and good when you have plenty of supplies, but those medics are making bandages out of sheets. And we're running out of those."

"So ask the bubble-heads to donate something, since they love you so much."

Baivds were the natives of the planet. Because of their unusual transparent skin, it had become common for those who didn't like them to refer to them as "bubble-heads".

"On what grounds?," Jac asked, not as an angry demand, but an innocent question.

It paid not at all to get on the bad side of a superior. Even less to provoke them once you were on that side. And Jac was most certainly on Vector's wrong side, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out how and why that had happened. Or if, indeed, there was a right side to Vector.

"We're protecting them aren't we?," Vector snapped.

"We have turned their planet into a battlefield," Jac reminded him ever so gently, carefully avoiding any word which might sound argumentative "their homes have become our hospitals, our lookout posts and our storage areas. They had little when we arrived, and we have taken nearly all of it."

Vector grunted irritably. He couldn't argue the point. That was one of the things he hated most about Jac. The Clone was always so damned humble when he was right. Vector felt that The Clone was soft, at least in the head if nowhere else.

"And about those storage areas," Vector pretended not to notice he'd changed the subject, a facade which Jac supported by remaining silent and looking attentive "I don't like how few guards you've posted. One or two men won't stop an army."

"Alright," Jac said cooperatively "would you like me to pull men from the patrols or the lookout posts to fill out the guard ranks?. Or would you prefer I called on the medics and injured?," there was a certain hard edge to that last remark.

It was the first sign Vector had ever gotten that indicated he was getting under Jac's skin. He couldn't take pleasure in that, because he knew Jac was right yet again. The post was understaffed, short on supplies and overworked. Worse, they were often conducting troop and supply drops from the ground, but everything went out to the field at once and they barely saw any of it.

Vector didn't answer, instead turning and storming out. Jac often wondered why Vector came to see him, instead of the other way around. Vector had an "office" of his own, where Jac always delivered his report at the end of the day. Maybe he liked pacing while Jac sat and looked on.

"How the Hell did that guy ever get promoted?," Corporal Red wondered when Vector was gone.

Red was an opinionated, stubborn sort of a clone and he never had learned to hold his tongue. Jac had come to value Red's input, and found the tradeoff of putting up with Red speaking out of turn to be very much worthwhile.

"He's not stupid," Jac said "he just uses me as a vent for his frustration."

"But you're not a vent!," Red spat "you're a sergeant, due more respect than that... that... _asshole._"

"Red, try and have a little respect for the Lieutenant," Jac said, and his gentle tone was by far more effective on Red than any harsh rebuke "he's used to following normal protocols. He's not used to being out this far, or having things this tough," Jac was referring to the difficulties in running the post rather than the relative conditions they lived in "not everybody has been through what we have, you know."

"The man can't think," Red returned, with somewhat less vehemence than his earlier comment "he sees there aren't enough men guarding stockpiles and explodes without once asking why that might be."

"Clones aren't supposed to think," Jac reminded him "they were meant to follow orders."

"But if you don't think, you don't survive," Red argued.

Jac took a deep breath, but instead of answering, he changed the subject and began to dole out the daily assignments. Jac knew as well as Red that what Red said was true, but he wasn't willing to admit it aloud, at least not in front of all the others.

* * *

The Clone didn't know it, but he was a subject of great interest outside his circle. Somewhat indirectly in certain cases, such as Padawan Iako Shay asking her Master Sofiane about the habits of clones.

"Why do you suppose they treat their dead the way they do?," she asked "it's not in any of their training, so who taught them to do it?."

More sinister was the report of a spy for the Separatists that there was a growing movement among clones. They were thinking for themselves. Lord Sidious initially dismissed the report thus: "So a few desert, commit suicide, turn on their masters or keep souvenirs of their battles. A few more or less is of no consequence," to which the reply was "But they're not doing those things. They're not killing themselves or deserting. They're thinking, and teaching others to do the same. Yet they continue to function as units in the GAR. And not, I might add, as commanders."

That was disturbing news. Sidious had Count Dooku contact a former Jedi who now operated as a Bounty Hunter. Glyr Rtj-lyr, who had once commanded Jac, said that he had seen evidence supporting the report when still a member of the Jedi Order. In fact, he held Jac up as a prime example.

While Jac would hardly be considered the head of the so-called movement and, even if he were -due to the nature of the movement- it would make little difference whether he lived or died, Dooku seized on what looked like an easy solve-all to the issue.

Rtj-lyr had a score to settle with Jac, and this was just the excuse he'd been looking for. He didn't entirely volunteer, but he did ask for a lower rate than he usually demanded. He then set about the task of finding out where Jac was currently.

This was easier said than done. Finding an individual clone's location was worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. It was looking for hay in a haystack. They all had designations, and there were files for each and every one, but it was tedious to go looking through the documents to find the one you wanted. Few people ever bothered, mainly because, in most situations, one clone would do as well as another.

Jac, of course, knew none of this.

* * *

"_Sarge, we've got one heck of a problem out here."_

Jac was on his feet and scrambling out of doors instantly on hearing that report from Gunshy. What he found was that the camp -village-whatever you want to call it- was being invaded. Not by Separatist troops, but by local wildlife.

A large herd of shaggy gray bovine-like creatures had drifted in over the course of the morning, drawn by water and food. A drought in the area was the chief cause, that and the constant battling elsewhere. The post was, quite simply, the quietest place the wayward beasts could find that also suited their needs. Jac had met with these animals a few times before, though not in any great number.

It was generally a simple matter of lining up some men along the streets and shooing the beasts until they left. He'd never been driven to shoot one, he wouldn't want to waste the ammunition anyway. But this was a great herd, or maybe multiple herds, trotting purposefully down the street.

"What are we gonna do?," one medic asked "we can't just shoot them all. We've got little enough firepower as it is."

"I already had to club one over the head for eating bandages," Gunshy was referencing sheets, but he'd said exactly what he meant "and I gotta tell ya, it doesn't feel right. They've got no defenses that I can tell, they just like to eat... everything."

Several creatures were pressing in on the stockpile building, turning off only when they were roughly shoved or struck on the nose by the guards, who were having a hard time keeping up with the influx of animals, each of whom tried to get in.

"What the Hell-," Lt. Vector had heard the commotion and come out to see, and was so startled that he broke off mid-sentence, then started anew "Jac!. Get these beasts out of my camp!."

"Yes sir... erm... how, sir?."

"Anyway you damn well please!," Vector snarled, throwing up his hands, before stalking back into his office.

"Yes sir," Jac scratched his head thoughtfully "well, anybody know anything about herding livestock?."

"Livestock!?," Red, newly arrived on the scene, exclaimed "Sarge, you gotta be kidding!. We shoot clankers. That's what we're good at. _These_," he gestured emphatically "are not clankers!."

"No, but they are going after our supplies," Jac replied evenly "alright, get everybody together. Barring lookout posts, I want everybody down here trying to keep these things away from the hospital and storage area. Move it!."

Red relayed these instructions, and got many questioning replies, most of which were a single word, spoken in form of a query "livestock?" or "herding?".

A Baivd woman, the only one who had spoken to the clones, came running out. She hurried to Jac and tugged on his arm urgently.

"Sacred," she told him quietly, running her open palm across the animals "Sacred."

Jac pointed to one of the beasts, which was downing a meal packet.

"Your _Sacred_ are eating our _Supplies_," he told her, hoping she might understand if he gestured enough.

"Sacred," she repeated, a hint of desperation in her soft voice.

"I understand that. But do you understand what they're doing to us?."

"Sacred."

"Yeah, okay, we'll try not to hurt them. But... will you at least help us?," she stared at him without any hint of comprehension, so he used gestures to accompany his speech "we need to... move them... get them out of town."

"Sacred."

"Yes, Sacred," Jac nodded understandingly "they need to go."

She hurried away. Jac hoped she'd understood, but he supposed that she probably hadn't. It wasn't that Baivds were overly primitive (though one could argue that they were), it was just that they didn't speak much. It was hard to tell if they understood most speech.

* * *

As the day wore on, it got hotter. If things had been running smoothly, it would have barely seemed warm. But the clones were hard at work trying to drive the creatures out of town. They'd figured out that the animals were in the process of looking for food. Migrating is what most would call it.

So long as they kept the animals moving, they'd drift out of the city fast enough, but it seemed that more followed almost endlessly. It wasn't the majority of them that caused the problem, but a few of the more stubborn ones insisted on looking around instead of following the herd.

Clones took turns driving the herds and running down strays. The Baivds stood by and did nothing but watch, though Jac quickly noticed that the animals drifted away from the Baivds more than the troopers. If the Baivds eyes hadn't been so noticeable, he might never have hit on it. When the Baivds stared at the animals, the beasts moved off without complaint.

Now the troopers were working without their helmets, and the animals could see their eyes. If they could make eye contact with an animal, it would shy away from them. But the beasts were uncooperative. They kept their heads down and turned away from the clones. They'd make as if to leave, and then suddenly turn and try to dart around the clones.

Lt. Vector had eventually joined the effort, though his first action was to fire a shot in the air. The animals scattered and stampeded in all directions. It took hours to get them flowing smoothly again and they did untold amounts of damage.

"You would make a lousy herdsman," Red observed.

Vector had opened his mouth to retort, but a young beast broke suddenly from the herd and he was forced to chase it. By the time he drove it back to the others, he was too out of breath for comment.

Disaster almost struck at one point when Jac allowed himself to be distracted by too many tasks.

"Move back, Red. Keep back from them, you're making them break to get away from you. Shy, stop letting them intimidate you!. You're driving _them_, not the other way around!."

He failed to notice until too late when a large bull of the species suddenly broke from the herd and ran at him. It struck him just below the hip with its lowered head, bowling him over. Lying on his back, watching as the animal swung around for another shot, Jac became uncomfortably aware of a feature he hadn't noticed before. Beneath the thick woolly mat on the creature's head, there lurked a pair of short, curved horns. The animal had barely started in his direction when a Baivd, little more than a child, leaped from the sidelines.

The Baivd stood with feet braced, leaning forward so that his eyes were on the same level as the animal's. For a moment, it looked like the animal would ignore him and continue on. At the last second, the animal swerved off with a bellow of wounded pride.

The Baivd held out a hand to help Jac up, then drifted back to continue watching. Jac realized at this point that, to the Baivd's way of thinking, they were helping. The Baivds were trying to teach the clones by letting them work it out for themselves, but standing by in case something went wrong.

"You in one piece?," Gunshy asked, casting a worried glance at the noticeable new ding in Jac's armor.

"Not a scratch," technically this wasn't true.

Jac's leg was throbbing and the others noticed that he continued to favor his right leg throughout the day. But nobody else asked if he was okay. He was still up and working, and that was good enough for them. The clones settled into working almost silently. They experimented with calling out to drive the animals along, but it seemed to only scatter them. They worked through the morning, afternoon and heading into the evening and there still seemed to be no end of the animals in sight. As darkness fell, the flow of animals became less and less, until there weren't any more coming. At this point, the Baivd woman who had spoken to Jac earlier approached him. She swept a hand across the sky as she spoke

"Light. Sacred."

She did this a few times before Jac caught on. Vector had wandered up.

"What's she saying?," Vector asked.

"Basically, when the sun returns, so do our problems," Jac replied "Lieutenant, we've gotta find a way to keep the animals out of the town. The Baivds may be able to put up with them, but we can't. Another day like this and it won't matter who wants what supplies, because we won't have any left."

"Did they get into the supplies for field troops?," Vector asked quickly.

"Yeah. One of them knocked the troopers there down and a small stampede nearly trampled them getting at what was in there. They must have gotten... at least half of what we had."

"The troopers?," The question had less to do with concern for his brothers and more to do with their ability to hold this post together.

"Shy tells me they'll be alright. Should be up and running by tomorrow, though maybe a little stiffer and slower than usual," Jac replied.

"So what are we going to do about them?," Vector switched the subject back to the animals.

"I don't know yet."

"Yet?."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Jac said, mildly impatient.

"Great. Thinking. That's just what we need," Vector went off in a huff, but Jac didn't notice.

He'd just hit upon an idea that just might work.


	11. The Sacred 2

Jac wasn't feeling too sharp. His leg hurt, the throbbing was worse and it felt like it was burning. He hadn't noticed it, but his armor had been more than dented. It had been very slightly punctured, just enough for the tip of the animal's horn to get through and carve a shallow gash in his leg. He hadn't noticed. In fairness, neither had Gunshy, who'd looked him over briefly after the incident.

Fact was, Jac hadn't even given it a second thought. He felt the pain, sure, and had to work around it, but he hadn't actually thought about it in hours. Right at the moment, it was getting difficult to think at all. His brain seemed to have gone sluggish, it was hard to focus. He did his best to simply shake it off.

He'd split the men up, sending some of them to get some rest. They could work through the night, but the longer they worked, the more fatigued they would get, and the less effective they'd be at their work. Just because a bunch of woolly beasties were using their camp as a migration path didn't mean the rest of the universe stopped ticking. There were ships scheduled to come in tomorrow, and there'd been a report by a patrol that droids had been through the area recently.

However, the rest he gathered around one end of the village. They needed to resolve the animal crisis, preferably before tomorrow, when the animals would be up and causing more damage.

"I don't get it," Bristler said, to no one's surprise.

"Look... it's very simple," Jac sighed.

He knelt on the ground with a stick and began to draw in the dirt to illustrate his point.

"Think of water. It tends to go in a more or less straight line, right?," he drew some straight lines "unless something gets in its way," now he drew a circle, meant to be an obstruction "then the water parts and goes around," the lines went around.

"So what?," Bristler asked.

"I second that," Red said reluctantly, and the two exchanged uneasy glances, unsettled that they agreed and that they couldn't for the life of them figure out what Jac was on about.

"Think of the animals as water. If we put something up here, in front of the camp, that parts them and gets them to go around...something," Jac trailed off.

"So, like water current," Luey volunteered "it's very strong when it comes head on. But a curving object, like a boulder, can part it; split it in two. The water tries to converge back on the straight line due to outside forces, but it's not as strong as if it was coming straight on."

"Exactly," Jac said, with some relief.

"So we build up a fence here," Luey guessed "Once they get by, they'll group up again and be on their way."

"Right," Jac nodded, not even sure himself if what Luey said was accurate or not.

"We can't build a fence all around the camp. And certainly not in one night," Bristler argued.

"We don't have to," Luey was sounding very excited now "just here. A curved fence line, and maybe rope off some of the streets and post a few men to make sure none of the animals gets a bright idea. It's a lot easier than facing the current head on."

Bristler wasn't sure he understood what Luey was talking about. Neither was anybody else, but they all agreed to do... whatever it was they were doing. After all, it had started as Jac's idea and he was the sergeant. If he wanted to build a fence, then they would build a fence.

Nobody noticed, because they were all trying to figure out what Luey was trying to get them to do, but Jac had a hard time getting his feet under him. Jac was just as glad of that. He didn't understand what had come over him, but he didn't want the men to be thinking about that. They had work to do. That was more important than a little dizziness on his part.

Getting together materials to build a fence proved easier than expected. The Baivds had all the equipment necessary, and none of them protested at the clones' employment of it. Most of the Baivds watched for a short while and then disappeared, as they did every night.

Only one remained, the one who spoke to Jac. She probably had a name, but she had never given it. Her dark eyes followed Jac's every move. But she did not interfere with his work, even as she must surely have seen how poor his balance and concentration were becoming.

"You know, herding is sort of fun once you get the hang of it," Luey commented.

"Speak for yourself," Bristler snarled "If I never see another mangy beast like those, it'll be too damn soon," he hammered a post into the ground to emphasize this.

"I dunno, I kind of like it," Luey said "maybe better than shooting clankers."

This statement provoked a response in Jac that none of them anticipated. He turned on Luey, yanking the latter around to face him. When he spoke, his voice was low and fierce.

"Never. Ever. Say that again. Do you hear me?. Clones have been shot for less," he let Luey go as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, and returned to work.

Luey hadn't thought before he spoke, nor did he understand Jac's outburst. He didn't realize that his words could easily imply desertion. Jac took issue not with his interest in livestock, but with his admission of it. To admit that he wanted to do something other than fight could easily be enough to get him killed. But Luey didn't know that.

"Sorry, Sarge. I didn't know you felt that way," Luey said uncertainly.

He wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for, but getting on Jac's bad side seemed like the worst thing he could do. Maybe if he just groveled a little the problem would go away.

"I just don't want to see you dead from another brother's blaster," Jac grunted.

This served only to confuse Luey further. He returned to what he'd been working on, deeply puzzled. Jac didn't sound angry with him, yet he'd come on awfully strong. Luey just didn't get it. He didn't, but Red did. Red decided he'd talk to Luey later, and try to explain what had just happened. He actually sort of wondered why Jac hadn't done that himself.

It's possible the other clones might have noticed Jac's increasingly erratic or slow movements if they hadn't already been worn out from the day's labors, not to mention focused on trying to complete their current set task before daybreak. As it was, they may have noticed in passing that Jac stopped for breath, but they weren't paying close enough attention to realize how frequently he was doing it.

Jac was no fool. Ordinarily, he probably would have quit, knowing that he was in the long run doing more harm than good. But he couldn't think straight, and so reverted to his habitual behaviors, which were to buckle down and get the job done without complaint, regardless of personal discomfort.

He was beginning to ache through and through, like it was too cold, even though his body was heated not only from work, but fever as well. It had come on so suddenly that Jac hadn't had time to react. He just all of a sudden didn't feel well. He couldn't understand it, or explain it, so he didn't try. He simply accepted it and went on with his work.

Until he couldn't.

It was Red who saw Jac... not really fall, but something like that. Jac's legs just sort of folded up under him and he toppled over on his side.

"Jac!," Red was at once kneeling beside his sergeant, who didn't even try to answer him.

Reflexively, Jac rolled over and sat up a bit as he was seized by heaves. He hadn't eaten since the morning, so there wasn't anything for him to get rid of, but there wasn't a part of his body that believed that. Holding onto Jac, it felt to Red as if every muscle was getting in on the act, including Jac's lungs. It even seemed to him that Jac's heart stopped briefly at one point, but he didn't know.

"Jac," Red repeated the name more quietly this time, but Jac couldn't have answered if he'd tried, so Red yelled something which proved far more effective "medic!."

Jac's body began to shake, and he moaned, trying to double over. But Red held him, didn't let him move. Red didn't much know one medical condition from another, and remembered only that there were times when you shouldn't move or it would only make things worse. He didn't know if this was one of those times or not, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

"Hold still, Sarge. Take it easy, I've got you, you're alright," Red wasn't sure any of this was true, but securing Jac's cooperation seemed necessary.

Jac heaved again, this time managing to rid himself of bile, but little else. He really had nothing to lose. Again his breathing came to a complete halt as everything in him seemed to be trying to force out whatever was making him sick by simply driving everything out. When his stomach came back down, Jac choked and gasped on air, violent shudders running through him.

Gunshy and another had come on the run, and slid in on the other side of Jac from where Red was. Red had never seen a medic work without equipment, but Gunshy did now.

"Get this armor off. Come on," Shy's voice had never sounded so savage as it did now.

Red wasn't sure why they were taking Jac's armor off. But one thing you never did was argue with a medic about medical procedures. Rank made no difference to medics when it came to their job. They'd even been known to snap at generals.

Getting the chest plate off seemed to be Gunshy's biggest interest. Once it was, Gunshy laid a hand on Jac's chest and seemed to listen intently. Red couldn't figure out what that was supposed to accomplish, but he didn't ask.

"Damn," Gunshy spat the word, pausing to pull the gloves off both hands.

"What?," Red asked, but Gunshy didn't answer him, turning instead to the medic who'd come with him.

"The kit at the foot of the stairs, go get it," when the other medic got up and ran, Gunshy called after him "and get Prof out here!."

Prof, otherwise known as Professor, was another medic.

"Turn him on his side," Gunshy said "easy, hold his shoulders, not his chest. Let him breath!."

Red was way, way, _way_ out of his element. He had received a little basic training in first aid, but it had been a long time ago and there hadn't been much emphasis placed on it.

"What's happening, doc?," Red asked, desperate for any kind of information.

It had more to do with trying to do his best given the situation than anything. Information would help him do whatever it was he needed to in order to get the job done. Right now, he didn't have any.

"We'll see soon enough," Gunshy replied absently.

He was listening with his hands again, this time at Jac's neck. Red watched in bafflement. His training in first aid had been how to use the equipment in his med-kit. He didn't really know what the equipment was telling him, just how to react to what it showed him.

"What's the matter with him?," Prof was older than Gunshy, but had never been possessed of the same talents as the younger clone.

"Can't breath, he's got a fever, and keeps trying to throw up even though he's got nothin' in there. He's awake, but can't answer me," Gunshy had never been one for technical jargon "Red, notice anything odd before he collapsed?."

"Uh...," Red's mind was suddenly blank.

It came to him, hit like a bolt of lightning, that he didn't really even know what constituted odd for Jac. Jac never acted like Red expected him to. He hardly ever broke or bent rules, he went by his training, yet.. for all that, he just wasn't at all like any of the others.

"Heart's racing," Prof was kneeling down too now, and listening with his own hands "but I can't tell if that's a symptom or if it's being caused by his symptoms."

"His system's sure rejecting something," Gunshy muttered "Red!. Answer the question!," when Red didn't respond, Gunshy looked up at the others, who were standing around looking bewildered "what about the rest of you?."

"Well," Bristler ventured slowly "he chewed Luey up for something he said. Sarge isn't one to lose his temper. You know that."

"He couldn't finish his sentences, I noticed that," Luey piped up helpfully.

"Gimme that med-kit," Gunshy reached for the kit Prof had brought with him "Prof, take over for Red, let him get back to his work."

Red sort of jerked when Prof tapped his shoulder, and gave up his position reluctantly. It was one thing for a clone to be shot down, or for a misfired weapon to accidentally kill a brother, or for nature itself to take you out in a storm or desert. But Jac had just dropped where he was working, for no apparent reason. Aside from which, Red was uncomfortably aware that now _he_ was in charge. Vector would be breathing down _his_ neck, and _he_ would have to be keeping track of the schedules.

"Alright, let's get a move on," Red said, swallowing down his fear and putting a lid on it "we've still got a fence to build. Sarge or no, this fence is going up. Come on, let the medics alone, you can't do any good here. Let's go."

"He's sure got something he's trying to get rid of," Prof shook his head "doesn't look like he's succeeding."

"Jac's never failed at anything he's set himself to do, and he is not-," Gunshy broke off as he injected something into Jac, then went on "-going to fail now."

The Baivd woman had been watching intently, and now stepped forward. She knelt beside Gunshy.

"Back off, give us room to work," Gunshy practically snarled at her.

"Hurt," she said "Jac. Hurt."

"We can see that!."

"Hurt," her hand reached out and touched the spot on Jac's armor which had been damaged by the young bull earlier "Sacred. Light. Hurt."

Gunshy didn't intentionally shove her back, but it worked out that way. He got at the wound under the armor and nodded in answer to Prof's unspoken question.

"Got it. The damn wool-cow," Gunshy growled "that's what did it."

"Sure, but what do you want to do about it?," Prof asked.

* * *

Jac, meanwhile, could hear what was being said, though he had trouble processing it. He mostly understood the vocal pitch. The men were upset about something. They were angry, and they were scared. But he couldn't figure why.

He heard the Baivd woman, and understood. He understood perhaps better than he ever had. Each single word she spoke had a world of inflection in it, an entire conversation, explanation or discussion was laced into every syllable.

In her single word, she had explained what was happening to Jac. She had said everything they needed to know, but they hadn't understood it. Jac had. Out of it as he was, somehow he could hear what she meant when she spoke. It just... made sense.

He relaxed, at least in his mind. Calmly, he let the world around him fade to black.

* * *

"We're losing him!," Prof exclaimed.

Gunshy ran a quick check of Jac's vitals.

"No, we're not. He's still with us," Prof wasn't sure if this was a statement of fact or faith.

Either way, he didn't argue.

As soon as they felt they could, the medics moved Jac to their makeshift hospital to work on him there. The handful of other medics clustered around, watching Gunshy work. He had a natural talent and basic understanding which was beyond the rest of them.

He didn't just understand that things worked, but why they worked, and their relationship to one another. He knew one organ did this, another did that, not just that when one shut down the patient died. He knew also that one could shut down, and the others might try to compensate, or otherwise mask which one was actually causing the problem. And he knew a whole heck of a lot more than how to treat a wound from a blaster.

"That's got him," Gunshy said after well over two hours "we've got him now."

Prof, along with the others, had always wondered how Gunshy managed to stay in the service without touching a rifle. They didn't have to wonder any more. They'd seen Shy save patients from far worse, but that had been using equipment, and the injuries had been covered under their training. What had just happened had certainly been mentioned in their training, but only in passing.

"Poison?," one medic guessed.

"Something like it," Gunshy replied with a weary sigh.

He was beat. He'd been working all day, and this additional strain had pretty much finished him off. He instructed Prof to keep an eye on Jac, then went off to get some sleep.


	12. The Sacred 3

The sun came up, and the woolly-cows (as Gunshy had unintentionally dubbed them) weren't far behind. When met with the fence, they turned to try and find a way around. The outward curve of the fence allowed them to continue forward even as they were also being forced off to the side. Therefor, they put up less resistance than they otherwise might have.

Luey seemed to be the only one among them who understood _why_ the fence worked. The rest only saw that it _did_ work. In the hospital, Gunshy was likewise the only one who understood why Jac had gotten sick, while the others just knew that he had.

After assuring himself that the fence would work, Red decided to get some shut-eye. Before he did, he poked his head in to see how Jac was, mostly to see if he was still alive.

"How is he?," Red asked.

"Still sleeping, but I expect he'll be up and ready to work in no time," Gunshy replied.

"Doc... what happened out there?." It was an unusual question.

Typically, a clone would be satisfied just knowing his brother was going to recover. That might have been true of Red before, but a thirst for knowledge, for understanding, had been awoken in him on the Madhouse planet, and he found his desire to learn was no easy thing to shut off. Gunshy, however, didn't seem to mind the question, or even think it particularly odd.

"An allergic reaction."

"A... what?."

"Well... it's...," Gunshy fumbled around in his mind, trying to find something Red would understand "it's like being poisoned. Only it's not poisonous for everybody, just a handful of individuals. Well, in our case, it's everybody, since we clones are all the same, medically speaking."

"Poisoned by what?," Red's mind naturally latched onto what it understood, and now he was a bit worried about the rest of the men coming into contact with whatever Jac had gotten into.

"The Baivds precious Sacred. At least, that's what it looks like."

"But we were around those things all day, and nothing happened to us."

"Allergies can work in different ways," Gunshy tried to explain "some reactions are caused by inhalation, others by contact, still others by ingestion."

"What?," Red was trying, but this was really out of his purview.

"Well, like there are certain chemicals that you can get on your hands and that's fine, it doesn't hurt you. But get it in your eyes or in your mouth and you've got a problem."

"Okay...," Red seemed able to follow that much.

In fact, he had some training on the subject. Chemicals were a part of everyday life. From cleaning supplies to parts of weapons.

"So Jac was cut by the horn of one of these animals. It got into his bloodstream and he had an allergic reaction to it. A severe allergic reaction."

"As opposed to?."

"You know that planet where we were held captive?. Remember those blue-flowered plants?. We all sneezed something terrible going through them, and those who were around them the most also got dizzy and had headaches. That was a mild allergic reaction."

"But that was pretty immediate," Red objected.

"Allergic reactions can take anywhere from a few seconds to a full seventy-two hours to take effect. They can take hold suddenly, or slowly build up. And they can have a wide range of symptoms. Basically anything you can name as a symptom for anything else can also be allergies. They can just make you uncomfortable, incapacitate you, or kill you."

"All that because he was barely nicked by one of those things?," Red wondered.

"Just be glad what we're allergic to isn't airborne. We'd have dropped like flies."

"Yeah," Red said, crossing his arms and looking thoughtful "we really are pretty lucky."

"That's why they call us Lucky Squad," Gunshy replied, amused.

His usual good temper seemed to have returned now that he was done "doing his doctor bit".

"You're really somethin', you know that?," Red said "that's really amazing. I mean... if not for you, Jac probably would have died. Not to mention the number of other lives that might be lost if we don't learn to avoid those woolly-cows."

"I just did my job, Red," Gunshy replied mildly "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be off doing something?."

"Yeah. Sleeping. Vector's taking over."

* * *

Jac woke up to find the Baivd woman standing beside him. She'd been there the whole time, despite protests from various medics about her being potentially in the way.

"See," she whispered quietly.

"I see," Jac's throat hurt, and he barely managed to speak the two words.

She smiled, and looked up as Gunshy came to examine his patient. Or one of them, anyway. He didn't much like the faraway look in Jac's eyes, but figured it was probably the drugs he was presently pumped full of.

"Do you know where you are?," Gunshy asked.

"I think so," Jac replied after a moment's consideration.

Gunshy asked him where that was, and Jac told him. Gunshy asked a few more questions and Jac got them right. His memory seemed intact anyway. But he kept drifting off, looking past Gunshy. Finally, unable to take it anymore, Gunshy asked

"Besides me, do you see anyone else in the room?,"

"The Baivd woman," Jac said, his eyes sort of wandering over to where she stood.

"Anyone else?."

"Nobody who's really here," Jac replied.

"But you are seeing things?."

"Oh yeah," Jac said, sounding quite unconcerned.

Gunshy spared Jac a worried glance before moving on to check on his other patients. He hoped it was just a side effect of the drugs. Otherwise they had a problem.

"Sacred," the Baivd woman told Gunshy as he walked away "Light."

"Yeah, yeah," Gunshy tossed over his shoulder "Red solved that problem."

He had better things to do than try and decipher what that woman had to say to him. He didn't even make note that she had spoken to him, not Jac. She'd never once spoken to anyone besides Jac. But Gunshy had too many other things on his mind to notice his changed status in the eyes of the Baivd.

* * *

"So glad you've rejoined the army, Jac. It's about time."

Red bristled at Vector's remark to his sergeant, but he managed to hold his tongue. Jac took the comment in his usual stride.

"Oh that?. That was an extended coffee break."

Jac's voice was still a little weak, but the mind behind his words seemed to have regained its former sharpness. His alert, mild sense of humor had also come back. Vector considered a biting retort, to indicate that flippant remarks were not appropriate, but he decided against it.

Interestingly, in the two days Jac had been down, Vector had felt nearly the full weight of the responsibility of this post. It had been a lot of work, both physically and mentally. Keeping track of everything, keeping the men in line and their morale high enough to keep them at work, trying to communicate with Baivds, making sure troops got deployed properly and so on.

He'd also gotten up close and personal with the members of Lucky Squad. And he'd decided that anybody who could keep that bunch in line must have something going for them. So, instead of coming down hard on Jac, as was his usual custom, he let it slide.

"I'd hate to see what you'd call a little vacation."

"It's that time between assignments," Jac responded "also known as time to sleep."

As he finished the sentence, his eyes seemed to momentarily lose their focus. Vector just barely noticed the lapse, and thought nothing of it. A moment later, the Baivd woman entered. Her eyes flicked to Vector and Red, then to Jac.

"See," it was a statement, but spoken almost like a question.

"See what?," Vector asked before Jac could respond.

The Baivd woman ignored him.

"See," Jac answered her.

She smiled, then ducked out.

"What was that?," Vector demanded.

"Communication," Jac replied.

Vector at first thought it was a joke, but Jac was serious. He looked at Red, who just shrugged. Vector shook his head, and wandered out to attend to other things. Jac and Red were quiet for a bit, then Jac looked up from where he sat at Red.

"Did he come in here... just to see me?."

"Apparently," Red said "what was the Baivd woman telling you anyway?."

"Hmm?," Jac looked up from the report he'd started to read "Oh, it doesn't matter. You're dismissed by the way," he didn't say this to be cold, but to make sure Red knew he could attend to other matters if he wanted to.

"Sir," Red nodded, started to leave, then turned back "Oh, by the way, when you get a minute, you may want to talk to Luey."

"About?."

"Well, he thinks you're still mad at him. I tried talking to him, but he's got it into his head that you have it in for him now."

"Where would he get that idea?."

"You know Luey, Sarge," Red shrugged "besides that, the lieutenant chewed on him some. Not on anything related, but you know how Luey forms connections and thinks everything's related to everything else."

"Yeah, I know. Alright, I'll straighten him out."

He waited for Red to leave before returning to the reports. He didn't need to catch up on what he'd missed the last two days, he only wanted to know where things stood right now. It looked like Vector had given control of the supply stocks to the medics, the reason being that they were probably most qualified to know who was really hurting for food or medical supplies. He was probably right.

It seemed the last of the woolly-cows (he wondered who'd decided on that term) had drifted through the evening before. There'd been a brief scuffle when a wayward cow went looking for a place to drop her calf. But nobody was hurt, or at least not enough for it to be reported on.

All in all, things appeared to be running smoothly for once.

Jac was not relieved by this. Whenever things seemed to be going smoothly, they always went sideways all of a sudden when nobody was ready for it. Peace was not a lasting thing, especially not in the middle of a war. It was something of a contradiction in terms.

* * *

Sometimes Jac hated being right.

That morning when he'd been concerned over how peaceful things were, he couldn't have realized exactly how right he was to be worried. Even when the attack happened, he did not at first grasp just how much trouble he was really in.

The first shots were fired in the dead of night. They were followed by warnings shouted via radio, radio which was then jammed. It prevented the post from contacting field troops, including those on nearby patrol. They could not call for aid, even if they wanted to.

At first, they didn't realize that they really, _really_ wanted to. Only a small trickle of droids made it past the guard posts, and these were quickly dispatched by the newly awakened clones on the ground. Clones never fight so ferociously as when the enemy crashes through their backdoor. Some clones didn't even pause to grab the weapons near where they were sleeping, engaging in hand-to-hand, and even snatching the droids' own blasters from their clutching talons.

Though the night was alive with sounds of shouting and blasters, and beginning to glow from fires which were sprouting here and there, though the air was thick with stirred up dust, the clones were very confident. They had little to fear from a handful of droids, except that one might get a lucky shot in.

The Baivds were nowhere to be seen.

The clones began to grow concerned. Though the trickle did not increase, it was steady and seemed never-ending. Just how many droids were on their way?. Their numbers seemed endless. They marched implacably into the camp, stomping right over the bodies of those who had come before.

The fires, unattended, grew larger. The dust got thicker, and mixed with the smoke. The clones began to really feel the heat of the fires, and to fear for the supplies which were doubtless burning. Worse, the ammo that might explode if the fire reached it.

But they could not break off their defense to deal with the fires until the droids stopped pouring in. But they kept coming, in twos and threes and sometimes a few more. Marching, shooting, relentless.

Lt. Vector had dispatched Red and Luey to go for help early on. At the time they left, they had probably believed the battle would be over by the time they relayed their information to someone with a working radio. They were wrong.

"Sarge, move!," Tag pelted into Jac and both hit the dirt, a grenade exploding so close to them that bits of shrapnel and debris came raining down on them.

"The term is 'grenade'," Jac said gently, shoving Tag off of him.

He knew why Tag was called that now. He'd hit like a ton of bricks. Jac felt sure he'd have bruises, not from where he'd landed, but from where Tag had smacked into him.

The fighting went on throughout the night. Ammunition stores exploded, adding to the blaze which seemed to have engulfed the camp. But the clones didn't give any ground. Surrounded by fire and drowning in black smoke, they held their positions nonetheless.

The worst was yet to come.

Jac didn't know what made him turn, but he did so knowing what he would see. A man came through the smoke dressed in a black cloak. He strode through the ranks of the droids as though they were nothing. Beneath his blackened hood, his golden scales gleamed in reflection of the fire surrounding him. Jac's blood ran cold and he stood immobile for a precious few seconds. He knew that man, that face, those reptilian eyes. He could mistake him for no one else.

The one who had driven his men to death and murder, who had nearly killed Jac and promised vengeance upon The Clone. He who was neither of the Republic or the Separatists, yet had mastery of the Force. He who knew of no law save for his own, who had allowed his own pride to corrupt him, whose obsession had led untold numbers to violent deaths.

Glyr Rtj-lyr, former Jedi General, had arrived.

* * *

_A/N: The allergic reactions discussed in this story are entirely real. I, and many people I know, are allergy sufferers. Reactions vary widely, it's not just a headache and runny nose, nor is it only an inability to breathe. To some, the delayed reaction described in this story might seem unrealistic, but it is very real. My father has an allergy to sulfites, which leads to such severe pain that he lies on the floor, unable to even speak until the reaction passes. Though it comes on abruptly when it hits, it is most often twenty four hours since ingestion of the sulfites (which occur in wine and grapes, among other things). It takes a fair amount for this to happen, but other allergies take no more than a drop._

_I, myself, have allergies to virtually all artificial scents. Just a whiff of a single drop of perfume can make my stomach feel like it's tying itself in knots, not to mention the migraine-scale headache which it also induces. In this instance, the reaction is painful, and immediate, but far from lethal._

_As was mentioned in the story, the cause of allergies can differ widely. For my dad with sulfites, it's eating them. For me with perfume, it's smell. A good example of this is my allergy to bananas. I can't even taste them. They have no flavor, they just burn. They burn my mouth, throat, stomach, anything they come in contact with on the inside. But we keep bananas in the house, I've often cut them up for fruit salad for other members of the household, and have no problems with smelling them or them getting on my hands._


	13. Only Fools 1

**Part 5: Only Fools**

"_Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies."  
-Groucho Marx_

* * *

The Clone stood frozen, held fast by a deadly combination of shock and dawning horror. He would have been justified in being afraid, but he wasn't able to summon the emotion, though conflicting impulses in his brain produced the same effect as helpless panic.

Before him stood a traitor, but not one he was equipped to deal with. A brother who had betrayed the others was something he could handle, something he could deal with. But this was a traitor of the highest order, a former Jedi General who had turned his back on the Republic.

It was surreal. Around The Clone, a battle was going on between Republic and Separatist troops. But he was suddenly not a part of it anymore. This traitor had singled him out specially, had sworn to take revenge on him specifically. The Clone had not forgotten this.

Nor had he forgotten the power of this former Jedi, this man who could bend and break the laws of physics as The Clone knew them with a wave of his hand or a savage thought.

The Clone's name was Sergeant Jac. The traitor was Glyr Rtj-lyr, a golden scaled man of enormous powers. Power far beyond the feeble comprehension of a mere clone.

These powers were demonstrated as Rtj-lyr raised his hands away from himself and above his head. As his black cloak fell back, the flames on either side of him leaped higher. Jac, in response to the heat of the flames, backed up an involuntary step.

A smile, unpleasant and sinister, spread across the face of Rtj-lyr. He could sense The Clone's profound discomfort, though it irked him that fear had not surfaced. More than anything, he wanted to feel The Clone's sense of fear, mortal terror of him, followed by crushing defeat. But fear seemed not to be forthcoming. Nor even anger or hate.

Rtj-lyr let the fire die back, and tried another tactic.

"You ruined my life," he hissed coldly.

"You did that yourself," The Clone returned, his voice equally icy "I did nothing but speak the truth when it was asked of me."

"It was your fault!," Rtj-lyr thundered "you did this to me!."

"I'll not take that responsibility," as Rtj-lyr's voice raised, Jac's lowered.

Where before he might have averted his gaze at the harsh stare of the once-Jedi, he now held that gaze steadily, not even blinking beneath his helmet. He did not attempt to shoot at Rtj-lyr, for that was something only a fool would do. Rtj-lyr's reflexes were faster than Jac's, and faster than the blaster itself as well. Jac knew to fire would be a fatal mistake.

Rtj-lyr had expected Jac to get a sense of his own helplessness, and to be crushed by the fear that brought. But Jac saw he was defenseless, and quietly accepted it without hesitation. Reality as it was held nothing which he ought to fear, only that which he should accept.

Unbeknownst to The Clone, the establishment of his own calm rattled the former Jedi. Rtj-lyr, for all his years of training as a Jedi, had allowed emotions of fear, spite and anger to cloud his mind. In his own way, he was as helpless as Jac himself. It infuriated him that this lowly creature, this mere clone, should have no fear in him.

"You do not fear me," Rtj-lyr growled, attempting to sidle up to The Clone.

Jac continued to back away, to maintain his distance from the overpowering presence of Rtj-lyr. He knew he was in range to be killed, that Rtj-lyr could strike him down in an instant. His reason for moving was not to escape death. It was for the same reason he'd backed away from the fire. A reflexive action which would serve him poorly here.

"I do not," The Clone confirmed the statement.

"Then you are a fool."

"Only a fool fears to die. Death comes to us all sooner or later," Jac replied evenly.

This seemed to anger Rtj-lyr. With the Force, he struck out in seemingly random directions. Walls seemed to explode and implode, fire spat forth from sparks, and recoiled just as quickly. Jac ducked on instinct, flames and debris flying past him, and even striking him.

When Rtj-lyr's temper cooled, so did the flames. Looking around, Jac saw that the fury of Rtj-lyr had wrought destruction right and left. More than spitting flames had shot through the air. He had caused damage to clone and droid alike, ripping them to shreds, burning them, impaling them.

It was the first time the other clones had actually noticed the black robed figure. Up until that point, their attention had been consumed by the droids. But now most of the droids were rubble on the ground. Jac straightened slowly, taking in the scene around him.

He didn't understand, couldn't. If Rtj-lyr was angry with him, why destroy everything _but_ him?. Jac himself was untouched, though there were clones beyond him who were not so lucky. Jac couldn't have comprehended Rtj-lyr's need to induce fear in his opponent even if it had been explained to him.

He had a two step process for the enemy in his mind: Seek. Destroy.

He didn't understand causing collateral damage when it wasn't necessary. He didn't have any way of understanding that emotions were somehow a part of the battle at hand. He couldn't. Yet even in the face of this Great Unknown, he wasn't afraid. He had already accepted the fact that the universe was full of things which he could not understand, but must accept for they were part of his reality.

"Stay back!," Jac shouted as he noticed the other clones beginning to close "do not fire."

The clones didn't understand, but they obeyed.

"I see," Rtj-lyr said softly, turning his head to see the clones at a distance "it is not yourself you care for. How noble. How very clone-like," he spat.

Jac didn't understand how it was significant what he cared about. But he sensed the impending threat to those around him. He didn't know why it was so, only that it was. And that was enough.

"Run!," he barked the order without so much as glancing away from Rtj-lyr.

The clones hesitated. Retreat. The one order they always hesitated to follow. This time, their reluctance would be fatal. The air seemed to explode, super-heating and snapping like electrical current. Fire, dust, smoke... Jac couldn't see. A whining sound filled the air, so piercing and loud it drove Jac to his knees. He didn't know what it was at first.

On impulse, he yanked off his helmet. That brought some relief as his radio, contained within the helmet, skittered away from him. With nothing to keep it at bay, smoke filled his lungs almost immediately. Jac coughed and choked, and stayed where he was, effectively blind and deaf.

As the smoke started to clear, Jac saw that Rtj-lyr had a clone by the throat. Instinct overrode good sense and Jac moved to rescue his brother. For the first time, the former Jedi drew his light-saber. The blade was raised, and came down like lightning. Blood splashed on the ground.

* * *

Red and Luey, two clones sent to go for help when the radios had been jammed, found their way to Jedi General Sofiane and his apprentice Iako Shay. Breathless, the clones had some difficulty conveying their message, and wound up mostly gesturing urgently back the way they'd come.

The two Jedi set off in a hurry with their men and vehicles. They didn't bother waiting for Red and Luey to catch their collective breath. It was just as well that they did not.

It took agonizing minutes to get to the camp. Long before they reached it, they could see the smoke curling up through the trees. The presence of Death was palpable. It wasn't like a battlefield, the Jedi could tell. The death wrought was not of that kind, but another. The Death here was the type of murder. Those slain had stood no chance.

Sofiane and Iako expected the worst. They cut ahead of their troops, hurrying along to see if there was anything which could be salvaged. What they found were buildings crumbled in on themselves, flames which had nearly burned themselves out, and bodies strewn about like bits of trash.

Dead clones lay about on broken staircases and across remains of droids. Some where halfway out windows, as if they had been taking sniper positions. The building which had been a hospital was torn clean in two, and the part which might have still been standing had fallen in on itself.

"This is your fault!. You did this!."

The voice attracted their attention away from the destruction. Slipping quietly towards the source of the voice, they found the owner of it to be standing on what had been the main street, a light-saber at his side. A clone lay before him, blood pouring from an open wound in his abdomen. He was either too weak or in too much pain to answer the one who stood over him.

The light-saber swung and cut a swath in the ground directly in front of The Clone. Dirt flew like shrapnel, but The Clone did little more than squint to protect his eyes. He kept looking at the man standing over him.

"Why aren't you afraid!?."

"You fool," The Clone whispered, then choked, coughed and went on "You poor, stupid idiot."

The light-saber cut into the ground again, but The Clone didn't flinch. He truly wasn't afraid. His emotions were far from in check, they were ragged and conflicting with one another. He was beaten, shattered, and knew it. But he wasn't afraid.

"Why aren't you afraid!?."

"Figure it out," The Clone spat blood.

Sofiane recognized Rtj-lyr almost at once. What he didn't know until now was that The Clone, Jac, had once served under Rtj-lyr.

"You should have died in those caves with Pariah!. I will send you to him now!."

It was at this point that Sofiane and Iako intervened. The fight was terrific, but brief. Rtj-lyr was outmatched by Sofiane alone, and had no hope when faced with the Padawan as well. But they did not kill him. He surrendered.

When they turned to see if The Clone was still alive, they found that he had dragged himself to where another lay. Everyone knew Gunshy, even Sofiane and Iako. The young medic was quite dead, body shredded and laid open in the dirt.

The Clone was holding him, holding tight to his brother, as if he might yet somehow breath life back into him. The Clone trembled, coughed. Blood ran out of the corner of his mouth, a pool of it had formed beneath him. His own blood mixed with that of his brother in the dirt.

Gunshy who, of all the clones, was virtually defenseless. The medic who had saved so many lives against all odds. Dead. Killed in his own camp, not even by droids, but by one whom the clones had once been meant to trust and to obey.

"Why Gunshy?," Jac's voice was weak, and cracked "your grievance was with me. It was with me!. He couldn't even defend himself!. Why did you kill _him_!?."

Jac fell silent, holding Gunshy to him. He sat and bled, holding his brother. And wept for him, as he never had any of his brothers before, and as he never would again. For this was no death in battle, nor in accident. There was no reason for this, Gunshy had not threatened Rtj-lyr in any way. Couldn't have. Rtj-lyr hadn't come to kill all the clones, just one. And that was the one he left alive.

Jac couldn't understand. And, for once, he found acceptance no easy task.

"You took everything from me," Rtj-lyr snarled, unrepentant "so I took everything from you."

Jac looked up, his eyes unfocused, sort of glazed. He didn't seem to see Rtj-lyr, or anything else really. Not anything which was really there anyway. His voice, when he spoke, was low and level.

"You took it from yourself. You destroyed everything you touched. You were a Jedi once. We trusted you. We obeyed you. We feared you. Now look what you've done. You've murdered the only people who could ever have respected you. And for what?," the question was a painful one, and it couldn't be answered because no one could explain revenge to Jac.

It simply wasn't possible.

Jac returned his focus to the dead clone, a shudder running through him.

"They think," Sofiane observed aloud.

"They _feel_," Iako said.

* * *

Jac never lost consciousness, but he would never know how he got from the planet to the medical transport. He didn't know that Rtj-lyr was in a cell on the self-same ship, and didn't notice that Red and Luey had come with him and never left the room he was in.

Of the clones at the camp, only a few had survived. All were on the ship. Of those clones, there were only two members of Lucky Squad: Bristler and Tag. Red and Luey were both alive because they had not been present at the time of the attack. Lt. Vector had also survived. Jac didn't know it (wouldn't have cared if he had), but he would never see Vector again.

Bristler and Tag, like Jac, were critical. It was a coin toss whether they'd live or die and, right now, it seemed as though the game was fixed against them.

"Lucky Squad doesn't seem so lucky now," Luey said quietly.

"We're still here," Red countered, but his voice was heavy, as though he were trying to convince himself as much as Luey "we're still breathin'. We're still alive. That's something."

"But for how much longer?," Luey wondered "how much more can we take?. How much more can _Jac_ take?," his gaze strayed to Jac, who lay unmoving.

His eyes were aimed at the ceiling, but he gave no impression of seeing it. He hadn't spoken to either of them. Hadn't reacted at all since they arrived on the scene. The wound dealt by the light-saber had left him alive intentionally, with the intent that he bleed out eventually. But that did not account for the way his mind seemed to have fled from reality.

"I mean... look at him," Luey gestured, but couldn't at that moment bear to look at Jac so instead looked at the wall "he doesn't even know we're here."

"He's had it, alright," Red said "but that's happened before. Remember when we met him?. He was more dead then than he is now. He'll be back, you can bet on it. Guys like him don't quit. They've got too much reason. Nobody that reasonable can die from madness."

They were quiet for awhile. A long while. Then Luey spoke again.

"Why?. What Rtj-lyr did doesn't make any sense. Why go after Jac?. And, if he was going after Jac, why destroy the camp?. For what reason?."

"Because he could," Red replied, and would say no more about it.

The long and the short of it was that Red had no more idea than Luey did. "Because he could" seemed like as good an answer as any, and Luey seemed to really need an answer. And Jac wasn't there to give it to him. In fact, Jac didn't seem to be there at all.

The battle for the planet of the Baivd was over. There were simply too few troops to continue the fight. At some later date, the Republic planned to return and reclaim the world. But, right now, it simply wasn't important enough, or interesting enough or close enough to "home" to bother with.

The sense of Defeat hung in the air as heavily as Death itself, each seeming as though it would acquire a physical form at any second. Even the clones flying the transport, who hadn't been on the planet, could feel both hanging in the shadows and halls. In the silence of those who had lost the fight for the planet, and the gasping breaths of those who were losing the fight for life, there seemed to be whispering of the name of Death and Defeat. A feeling of utter futility, almost depression, fell upon each and every man on that transport.

It wasn't right. None of it made any sense.

Many of these clones would later become deserters, or suicidal. Perhaps it was because none of them heard what Jac did. He would later wonder if he'd heard it or simply imagined it. But it kept him alive. A voice seemed to whisper through the halls, in one door and out another, telling, promising, speaking

"_You who will die, for you the suffering is over. We who must die, we forgive you who shall live. They who Gods murdered, they are waiting on the other side"_


	14. Only Fools 2

There was something Jac didn't know. A sort of tug-of-war had begun for him and, to a lesser degree, the surviving members of Lucky Squad.

Anakin Skywalker, who had met him a few times, wanted Jac under his command. The rest of Lucky Squad, sure, but he mostly wanted Jac. He'd been trying to get his hands on Jac for some time now, but had never had enough time and reason to get him.

Sofiane wanted to keep Jac. Jac had finally done what long experience with clones hadn't. He had proved to Sofiane that clones could think and feel. Sofiane felt like a fool for not having realized that before, and guilty for having callously sacrificed so many, without any thought for their lives.

Even some politicians were getting in on the act, though most only complained that the Baivds should not have been abandoned, the number of clone casualties be damned. However one politician, Palpatine, had other ideas.

"This clone has obviously seen much of war. Too much. We can ask no more of him."

But Jac was really only a side subject of interest. Far more relevant to most was the abandonment of the Baivds, and the attack by Rtj-lyr. Even if it was just clones, most argued that what Rtj-lyr did could not be excused. There were a few who said that Rtj-lyr had _only_ attacked clones, and that wasn't so bad. All in all, everyone was fired up. Everyone but the clones, who knew nothing of the attention they had garnered through no fault of their own. Most people didn't even know that Jac had a name, and they certainly didn't know his designation.

Quietly, amidst all of this, Palpatine continued to softly push for Jac to be released from the army. Each nudge was met with stiff rebuttal. A clone had never been released from the service before. Even permanently crippled clones could be repurposed away from the front lines. The idea was absurd. If it happened once, it could happen again. Then you'd have clones asking to be let go, and getting sulky about how long and well they had served without much reward. Those who were alert enough claimed that clones only served without thought of reward because they didn't realize it could be any other way.

If conversation ever got too hot, of course, one could always switch the topic to the Baivds, or Rtj-lyr or any number of things. Other than Anakin and Palpatine, nobody really had much time for the subject of Jac. Neither did they, truth be known. There was a war on, and there just wasn't that much time to worry about one clone in the Grand Army.

Especially a clone who might well be dead next time he was brought up in conversation.

* * *

Interestingly, it was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi who actually heard Palpatine and looked into Jac's record. He'd met Jac before, but The Clone had never made much of an impression.

"What do you know about this clone?," Obi-Wan asked of Commander Cody, handing over the record.

Cody looked at it briefly, and wasn't sure what Obi-Wan actually wanted to know.

"I know he's young for his record. I hear he doesn't respect the authority of other clones."

By the first, Cody was referring not to rank, but to experience. For training and length of time in service, Jac was over-promoted. For experience, one would wonder why he wasn't above sergeant.

At the second, Cody was actually mostly referencing a brief encounter Captain Rex had had with The Clone. Beyond that, it was all hearsay. Most said it had come about when he'd served under Rtj-lyr.

Obi-Wan had heard many of the same things. During the campaign for Aakaria, Jac had sprung from relative obscurity to a clone with a reputation. Only nobody seemed to be able to pin down what that reputation was. He wasn't stubborn, he wasn't a rogue. He wasn't... well... anything. Anything special, that is. He was, as his name implied, Just Another Clone. But, obviously, that wasn't entirely true.

Obi-Wan began to realize that, whatever Jac's unique quality was, it could not be captured on paper. Or, at least, it had not been. He was becoming increasingly curious, and wanted to see for himself.

He was also reluctantly beginning to find himself sort of halfway agreeing with Palpatine. While The Clone had participated in only a few noteworthy battles, he had suffered much. It began with the utter destruction of the first squad he'd served with. Jac alone had survived.

It went from there. Details were sketchy, reports tended to deal with "relevant facts". They weren't much of a biography. But Jac had served under some of the roughest Jedi and answered to some of the most treacherous clones. The abuse he'd suffered at the hands of Rtj-lyr and those like him was mentioned only in passing. But one could look at the dates of the records to see how long Jac had been at what posting. Jac seemed to lose more than he won, somehow always being in the most hopeless situations which could be found... except that he continued to survive. Up to and including the Madhouse, Jac continued to survive. That fact alone seemed more surprising than all the others.

But it seemed as though Jac's encounter with Rtj-lyr might render all of that moot. Light-saber wounds were not often survived, least of all by clones. Jac was lucky in but one respect: Rtj-lyr hadn't run him through and killed him outright.

Then again, was it really lucky if all he would do was suffer for days or even weeks and then eventually die?. Whatever the case, Obi-Wan knew he had to meet this clone. He had to see for himself what all the fuss was about.

* * *

Jac had shown little improvement. Infection had set in quickly, possibly because his immune system had so recently been assaulted and was therefor weaker. He slipped in and out of coma and hallucinated most of the time if he was awake.

As for the other two survivors from Lucky Squad, the news was somewhat more promising. Both were showing marked improvement, though Tag had yet to regain consciousness.

Perhaps most concerning, at least to medical staff, was actually Red. Physically undamaged, Red seemed nevertheless to be becoming mentally unhinged. He had gone silent and sullen, and refused to leave Jac's side. He regarded all who approached with open suspicion, especially droids.

"I've never seen a clone show that kind of attachment to his sergeant," one of the medical staff remarked "I wonder what caused it?."

As though there needed to be some sort of outside influence causing Red to behave as he was. His loyalty to Jac, and his own suspicious and aggressive nature were all it took. He'd left Jac behind only once, and had sworn to himself that he would never do that again.

Even Luey got tired of being bedside now and then. He also sometimes drifted off to check on the rest of Lucky Squad. But not Red. Red, best any medic could tell, never moved from his post. Standing guard or vigil, nobody was quite sure. Maybe not even Red himself.

When asked about his reasons, the best answer he could give was "other clones, they can live and die. It's what we're for, fighting and dying. But not this one. Not Jac."

Where had he gotten such faith, many wondered. And why did he care so much?. What made this clone whom he stood watch over different from any other to him?. Red gave no answers.

Red couldn't help but wonder if Jac might be better off if Gunshy were still alive. He couldn't help but look at his own hands and wonder what Gunshy had known. Had that knowledge, which had saved Jac's life once before, been completely lost now that Shy was dead?.

Red remembered what Gunshy had told him. He didn't understand it, but he did remember it. He wondered if it meant anything to anyone besides Gunshy. It seemed like a waste. Gunshy had been kept in the field because his medical expertise was too good to lose. And now he was dead. Everything he'd known, everything he'd been able to do, the lives he could have saved had he lived... all of it was gone.

"I don't understand, Jac," Red said aloud at one point "this crazy world, it don't make any kind of sense. I can't see the reason for all of this. What's the point to all this fighting if all we're going to do is die?. Why even bother trying?."

The only answer was from the machines who kept Jac breathing, kept his heart beating. And that wasn't any kind of answer at all. At least, not one Red could understand.

* * *

It took awhile for Obi-Wan to get the time to come and visit Jac. Now and then, he'd tell himself it didn't really matter, and that it was just as well he'd never meet Jac. But he couldn't put The Clone out of his mind for long, and began to grow concerned that he was becoming obsessed.

But at the end of a particularly exhausting space battle, he found himself on a medical ship. And not just any ship. The same ship Jac was on. Through no effort or intent of his own, Jac had been brought virtually to Obi-Wan's door. Obi-Wan couldn't claim this as coincidence, not that anyone ever asked.

When Obi-Wan left the room where he had been treated, he found Cody waiting for him. Cody had gotten away from this one unscathed, which left him sort of uncomfortable. There isn't much to do on a medical ship except wander the halls and look in on the wounded and dying and wonder when your time to lie in that bed will come. Cody hated hospitals, though he never said so.

"How are you feeling, Sir?," Cody asked, trying to pretend he hadn't been hovering.

"I'll live," Obi-Wan replied, then asked about several clones who had been injured.

It was as close to small talk as either of them got. A few minutes later, they were consulting a map and discussing strategy, much to the "annoyance" of a medical droid which insisted that Obi-Wan return to his bed and lie there, resting. Neither man nor clone acknowledged the droid and it eventually went away, probably to have a meltdown.

It was interesting what details Cody latched onto and remembered. Obi-Wan often bounced thoughts and ideas off the commander, mostly because he was there, but also because he was actually pretty smart and his thought patterns were distinctly different from Obi-Wan's. Sometimes intellect seemed a matter of different perspective, rather than a better grasp of the situation.

In any case, Cody recalled that Obi-Wan had once asked him about Sergeant Jac, even though it had been some amount of time since that very brief conversation.

"That clone you were looking for is here," Cody commented after they'd been silent for awhile, studying their maps and troop deployment.

"Hmm?," Obi-Wan was only half-listening, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Cody gave the trooper's designation, but Obi-Wan didn't react to that either.

"He's called... Jac, I think," Cody said after a moment's thought "yes, Sergeant Jac."

"Jac?," Obi-Wan looked up "what about him?."

"He's here," Cody wondered briefly if Obi-Wan really ought to be in bed like the droid had told him, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Really?."

Obi-Wan was suddenly on a different track entirely. Jac's being here could not be coincidence, and Obi-Wan would do well to heed the not-so-subtle nudge that, not only was he here, but Cody had bothered to remember his name.

"I'm told he's awake," Cody replied.

He couldn't miss Obi-Wan's look of heightened interest. He couldn't figure what it was all about, though he'd been chewing on that for some time now. He didn't ask for an explanation when he directed Obi-Wan to the room, and he remained outside. Something told him Obi-Wan wanted to talk to Jac, not the entire world. Just because he couldn't figure out why didn't mean he couldn't understand and respect the sentiment. Cody had a way of always knowing when he was and was not wanted.

The room was full of clones who were wounded one way and another, and one who looked fine to Obi-Wan. This clone looked on him warily, recognizing him as neither friend or foe in spite of seeing clearly that he was a Jedi. Obi-Wan had never had a clone look at him that way, like they didn't know whether to shoot him or not. It was... quite unsettling.

This clone stood near another's bedside. The clone in the bed seemed to be awake, though not particularly reactive. His face was pale and there were dark circles around his eyes. This, Obi-Wan knew at once, was Jac.

He wasn't quite sure himself what it was, but The Clone had an undeniable presence to him, even in his current somewhat stuporous state. There was a quiet command about him, a strange mix of humility and supreme confidence, even here, in such a place as this.

Obi-Wan remembered meeting him before. He wondered how he'd missed the intensity that seemed to radiate from Jac, a quality almost like power, but somehow distinctly separate from that. It was something more, something deeper. Something Obi-Wan couldn't think of a word for.

"Do you know who I am?," Obi-Wan asked, by way of opening conversation.

"General Kenobi," Jac replied quietly "we've met."

Though his voice seemed weak, the spirit behind it was strong. This was not the beaten clone Palpatine was trying to release, nor the one Obi-Wan had expected to meet from reading the records. Before Obi-Wan could speak again, Jac's eyes flickered to the clone at his side.

"Corporal, I believe the General has things he would like to say," he nodded towards the door.

The corporal looked suspiciously at the Jedi and seemed reluctant to move. Obi-Wan couldn't know that this clone, Red, had not once left Jac's side the whole time they'd been here. Not for a Jedi or for anyone else. Now he moved away only slowly, looking as though he were hoping for reprieve, for a recension of his indirect orders. Jac just watched him go.

"I don't think I've ever seen a clone act that way," Obi-Wan murmured, more to himself than Jac.

"Red's a good man," Jac said, though this statement didn't appear to be a defensive one, as open and innocent sounding as the words themselves "but he does tend to go about things in his own ways."

Obi-Wan thought about that for a moment, and decided to drop it.

"So you're Jac," he said "the clone everyone's talking about."

The Clone blinked, looking both startled and slightly uneasy. He felt even more so.

"Have I done something wrong?," he asked after a moment.

The question spoke volumes about Jac's past experiences. To be brought to anyone's special attention, you had to do something wrong. If everyone was talking about you, you must have done something _very_ wrong. Obi-Wan could hear the wheels turning in Jac's head as his mind scrambled and unscrambled itself, trying to figure out what he might have done.

"Actually," Obi-Wan said when he felt able to keep the amusement out of his voice "quite the opposite."

This brought no relief to The Clone's features. His brow furrowed and his expression became more intent as he tried to change his search to something he'd done which was so interesting that someone would bother to make a note of it. In fact, he now looked more worried than he had before.

"You've caused quite a stir, you and your squad," Obi-Wan went on.

The Clone gave up searching his memory and just listened, a concerned look on his face, which looked all the more severe due to the sickness still evident there even now that he was recovering.

Obi-Wan caught himself before he said more. He was having fun at The Clone's expense. He was surprised at himself, and mentally scolded himself for being so childish and unfair. At the same time, The Clone was regaining his own composure. The information settled in, meant nothing to him, and so was filed away in his memory in case it made more sense later.

"I suppose I must have," Jac's voice was cool and confident when he spoke "to warrant a special visit from a Jedi."

"This isn't official," Obi-Wan said "I was merely curious to meet you. After all I'd heard... you're... well... not what I expected."

"Sorry, Sir."

"That's not a bad thing," Obi-Wan assured him "just... curious."

Still more curious was why, with all the concerns which had played on The Clone's face, he wasn't even the slightest bit afraid. Concerned, worried, confused, but not even a tiny bit scared. Not of Obi-Wan, the news or anything else. Normally, the total absence of fear in a clone was accompanied by brashness, overconfidence and even arrogance. But not in this one.

"I see now why they composed a squad of the most troublesome clones they could find and then gave them to you," Obi-Wan said.

_Because they don't like me?_ Jac's eyes guessed, but he didn't speak.

He wasn't comfortable speaking to the Jedi, and preferred to maintain silence when possible.

"But why Lucky Squad?. It doesn't seem a particularly appropriate name," Obi-Wan observed.

"I didn't call it that. Someone said it once, and it stuck."

"I see," Obi-Wan paused, then asked another question "what do you expect to do when you get out of here?. When you're well, I mean."

"Go back to work, I suppose," Jac replied "I always have... before," that uneasy look was back.

"Have you ever been to Coruscant?," Obi-Wan knew that Jac hadn't, and probably hadn't thought about it, so he was curious to see what response that would provoke.

"Coruscant is no place for a clone," Jac replied, sounding as though was repeating something someone had told him once (which was true).

"Why not?,"

"There's no war there. Except politics. And a clone has no business in that world," Jac spoke this with a certain amount of assurance, then in deference to the Jedi who might have another opinion on the matter, added meekly "from what I've been told, anyway."

"What would you do if the war were to end, right now, today?."

Jac didn't answer for a bit. He was thinking about something, but Obi-Wan couldn't tell what.

"Whatever I was ordered to, I should think," he said with a sigh "With respect, may I ask: why all the questions?."

"Because I want to hear the answers," Obi-Wan replied.

"Good reason."

"I like to think so."

Obi-Wan liked this clone immensely. Jac had a quick mind, though he would take his time in deciding on an answer to a question. It seemed almost as though he were purposely trying to appear slow-witted and even stupid (at least in comparison with those around him), trying to conform to the common idea of a clone, even though he was ill-suited to the role. Effectively, he was bending over backward to hide his true character and take on the guise of a clone just like all the rest.

Considering the source of his name, it seemed he was damn good at the act.

"I'm taking a short leave soon. I want you to come with me."

"Sir?."

"There has been talk of releasing you from the service."

"Just me?," the question was spoken in an almost wounded tone.

"Just you," Obi-Wan nodded "and I want to settle the dispute. It seems to me that, if you are qualified for release, you're certainly qualified to decide if that's what you actually want. But, seeing as you've never been free to do what you want, I think you should experience it first-hand, before being asked to make that decision."

"I-I don't understand. Clones... don't get released. They don't retire. Why me?."

"Why not?."

Jac couldn't seem to think of a good answer for that.


	15. Only Fools 3

Watching Jac be uncomfortable was probably the most entertaining thing Obi-Wan had seen in a long time. He couldn't even begin to explain why that was. Possibly because there was something absurd about a grown, battle-hardened clone looking around and shifting uneasily like a shy child. There was something about it that seemed so strange, so bizarre, that it just had to be funny.

Obi-Wan had never thought of those who had killed as possessing any kind of innocence. But Jac certainly changed that. Take him away from his war and fellow clones and plunk him in the city and he acted just like any country boy, fascinated, bewildered and, yes, there it was, a little scared. And maybe that was the funniest thing of all. There was no amount of violence, no savage atrocity, no act of cruelty, which was capable of eliciting such a response. Yet show him a taxi and he shied away like a nervous animal.

Jac's reflexes were tuned to danger, his instincts regarded all fast or unpredictable motion as a potential signal for it. He'd been in the middle of bustling activity on the ground and on ships, but always with purpose and intent. You didn't go anywhere quickly if you didn't have to. But that's what everybody was doing here. There were people running hither and thither like their heads were on fire, and none of it seemed to mean anything.

Jac had also been in cities, but those cities had become war zones long before he arrived. Generally there was no electricity, and certainly no one on the corner trying to sell you things. Obi-Wan almost choked when Jac asked how people could sell "a good time". He didn't have the foggiest notion what they meant, and encountering more of them didn't help him any.

Some were selling drugs, others their bodies, drinks, trinkets, and so on. All proclaimed that you'd never had a good time until you bought what they were selling. Jac, for one, had never bought anything in his life. He understood the concept, in as much as a clone was capable of understanding exchanging what to him looked like worthless scrap for something else, but he didn't exactly get paid for his job.

As they wandered the crowded streets, The Clone hung very close to Obi-Wan, wary eyes trained on the crowd. Nobody noticed that he was a clone. To them, he was just another dude on the street. Maybe a little paranoid, but nothing they'd remember later in the evening.

Bright neon lights overhead and on either side proclaimed the value of drinks, of food, of some brand of insurance over another. They asserted their authority over matters such as vehicle engines and design, sometimes breaking to talk about politics, or to have a paid celebrity advertise their product. It was loud, it was chaotic, it was confusing.

Jac's senses were overwhelmed with a rush of input, and he struggled to figure out what was relevant to him and what wasn't. It seemed like everything and everyone thought they were equally important and worth his time. Obi-Wan just made his way down the street, ignoring pretty much everything.

Jac followed him, hoping he had some idea where they were going. Jac wasn't sure he could find his way back to the place where they were staying. He'd always been good at making note of his location, and he'd depended more than once on his innate sense of direction, but it didn't serve him here.

You couldn't plot a straight course through this tangle of city life. Streets twisted and wound and crossed about with no apparent pattern. Jac knew roughly how far away they were and what direction the building was in, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how many turns they'd taken.

At last, they reached their destination. A little bar nestled amongst many larger, rowdier ones. It was quiet inside, it was a bar where people tended to be staring vaguely into their drinks, instead of partying it up. Jac realized that all the noise outside had made his ears ring. He could hear that now.

Drinking was generally frowned on by the Jedi, but many were known to occasionally take a drink, especially during leave. Clones were forbidden to drink, though many a depressed trooper had taken to the bottle. Jac, having never been to a bar, didn't even realize this was one. He did notice that drinks were being served to the people around him.

It was a strange sight to him. People openly drinking. Jac didn't know what to make of it.

"Jac!," Obi-Wan had drifted on ahead to find a seat near the back, and briefly lost track of The Clone "come on."

Obedience superseded caution, and Jac nudged his way through the standing crowd. He was surprised that nobody lashed out at him for pushing them out of his way. Barring emergency, shoving was considered inexcusably rude, even in a clone's world. Jac remembered this from when he was very young and had pushed his way through a group of other boys. He still had scars from that fight.

On reaching the table Obi-Wan was seated at, Jac started to take the habitual place of a subordinate, behind and slightly to the side.

"Jac," Obi-Wan said slowly and, with tremendous patience, added "sit."

Jac looked as though he didn't quite understand, then seemed to absorb the meaning. He took a chair, pulled it around so that its back was to the wall and sat. Obi-Wan wanted to laugh, but tried to ease Jac's mind instead.

"It's alright, Jac. I picked a quiet bar. Nobody in here is looking for a fight except you."

Jac did not look convinced. Not even slightly. When their drinks were served (Obi-Wan had ordered for both of them), he actually flattened against his chair to put as much distance between himself and their server as possible.

"Well, try it. It's good," Obi-Wan said when he realized Jac wasn't going to touch the glass on his own "you'll like it."

"Clones aren't allowed to drink, sir," Jac's voice actually shook as he said this.

"But they are supposed to do what they're told. And I'm telling you to drink that. Just taste it a little."

Jac looked from Obi-Wan to the drink and back again, as if he felt this must be a kind of test and wasn't sure what the right answer was. It was a conflict of obeying the rules he'd been taught or obeying the Jedi he was trained to serve. He couldn't seem to decide which was the lesser infraction, so he allowed his own curiosity to get the better of him.

He picked up the glass, tasted its contents. He put it back down, and stared at it contemplatively. Obi-Wan couldn't tell whether he'd liked it or not. Jac was good at keeping his personal thoughts to himself. At length, he dared to take another sip, then replaced the glass on the table.

Some of the tension seemed to be leaving him now that they were stationary in a semi-stable environment. The action was no longer coming right at him as it had been on the street, but swirling in lazy currents around him. That settled him quite a bit.

"Is it always like this?," Jac wondered aloud after many minutes of watching.

"Actually I think it's quieter than usual."

Jac seemed mildly horrified by that statement. He took another drink, an instinctive way of defending himself from the new-found knowledge. Life was more chaotic, disorderly, and generally violent than war itself seemed to be. And yet, not one of the people here aside from them had ever lifted a finger in this war. They were disinterested, and considered it someone else's problem and responsibility.

Most were concerned only with their next paycheck, or their next pleasure. These things, in their world, were vitally important. These things, which Jac thought of only as vague concepts, were the very center of their existence.

It was clear to Obi-Wan that, though he was quieting some and adjusting himself, Jac was far from actual enjoyment. It was time to find him another activity. Obi-Wan was mildly surprised. He'd always thought clones would enjoy bars, it seemed a natural place to find them. That's part of why the rules about drinking were so strict. But obviously not _this_ clone.

As they were trying to leave, trouble struck. A Dug, angry and quite drunk, noticed the Jedi's light-saber. He didn't like Jedi. He didn't know anything about them, but that didn't much matter. Obi-Wan felt a tap on the back of his shoulder as he waded through the crowd, and turned to find the Dug right in his face. He anticipated the attack, and countered instinctively.

The Dug didn't get his first strike off, and was thrown unceremoniously to the floor. The trouble didn't end there, however. The trouble with bar people is that a little drink tanks them up, and a single spark ignites them. Within seconds, there was a bar fight.

Almost at once, Obi-Wan lost sight of Jac. He fought his way over to the entrance and looked over the crowd, but couldn't spot The Clone. He yelled for Jac, but to no avail.

Jac, for his part, was very nearly in his element. It was perhaps fortunate that Obi-Wan had relieved him of both rifle and pistol, otherwise there might have been a real disaster. As it was, Jac moved fluidly through the crowd, blocking attacks and responding with counter moves.

But the deafening noise and bodies writhing all about made it impossible for him to find Obi-Wan, or the exit. He retreated to the nearest wall he could find, which was far from the entrance where Obi-Wan had ended up, and looked for an escape.

He'd decided that he didn't like bars. He wasn't in any real danger from the combatants. Most didn't have a problem with him, and the rest were too drunk or incompetent to do anything to him anyway. But there seemed no order or reason to a bar fight. Nobody seemed to be on anybody's side, and there seemed to be no real intent behind the battle nor reason for achieving victory over someone. Was _this_ the Republic he was meant to protect?.

In his mind there flashed memory of Rtj-lyr, and the things the former Jedi General had done. The things which made no sense, the violence and destruction which he'd wrought for the sake of it. It was born of this sort of place. A place more profoundly disturbing than any battlefield.

Jac wanted _out_!. He'd never wanted anything so much in his life!.

A large man obliged him. When The Clone pushed off a would-be attacker, the large man grabbed him from behind, hefted him into the air and used him as a projectile against another bar goer. He missed and Jac went tumbling into a window, which shattered on impact.

He hit the ground and rolled out into the street. Quickly, he rolled back to the sidewalk and out of traffic and then took a moment to decide he wasn't hurt, merely stunned. If he'd wanted to, he could have marched right back into the bar and done the guy in. But Jac was not the vengeful type. He was simply relieved to be outside.

That relief was short-lived. Pedestrians hurried past him, running into him and hitting him with parcels they were carrying. Horns blared, vehicles swerved and barely stayed in the street. Lights flashed, blindingly bright and colorful. Jac looked around wildly, but there was no sign of Obi-Wan.

He inched his way to a nearby wall, and peered through the broken window at the bar. He'd been kicked out the side, and Obi-Wan had been at the front. Jac didn't know that. All he knew was that, looking in, there seemed to be no sign of the Jedi.

Jac tried to circle the building. But one way he was blocked off by a tall concrete wall. The other way was jammed with living traffic, people pushing and shoving and shouting. It took forever to get around the building. By then, Obi-Wan had moved on, thinking maybe Jac had gotten outside somehow.

Not seeing Obi-Wan anywhere, Jac ventured back into the bar, keeping to the walls cautiously, avoiding flying chairs and bottles. He didn't see the Jedi, so he crept back outside, discouraged.

He looked up and down the street, wondering where Obi-Wan would have gone. He didn't know Obi-Wan, or this city. He didn't know what might have happened. He still wasn't sure how the bar-fight had started. He'd probably never know.

Jac started to try and find his way back to where they were staying. Maybe Obi-Wan would "go back to base". That was a clone thing to do, wasn't it?. But Jac hadn't gotten far when he was shuffled off into a side-street by an aggressive bunch of clubbers. He twisted his way free of them and leaned on a wall, panting. It dawned on him that he didn't know where he was.

He went back into the street to see if he could find the bar he'd exited. He should go back there and wait for Obi-Wan to find him. Except he couldn't find it. All the lights and noise and confusion, he couldn't seem to find much of anything.

"Lost?," a seductive voice in the shadows asked.

A hooker stepped out. Jac didn't know what she was, just that she had barely anything on and was advancing on him slowly. In his experience, that sort of movement was menacing. He backed away uneasily, wary of this stranger.

"Big city too much for the country boy?," she purred "I can make it better."

"I- I'd rather you didn't," Jac stammered.

Was she an enemy?. But this wasn't a battlefield. Or was it?. Jac was so confused. She inched towards him, and finally pressed up against him. She blew warm breath in his face and reached up with a hand to tickle his ear.

The startled clone nearly broke her wrist yanking it away from his face. He pushed her back and she fell. She hit the ground, momentarily frightened, but quickly regaining her composure.

"You like to play rough, huh?," She said from the ground "well I can do that too."

"I'd really rather-," Jac broke off as he thought he spotted Obi-Wan's robe across the street.

He followed it, right out into traffic. Breaks squealed and horns honked and vehicles belched vile pollutant at him. He choked, darted and made it across. But it hadn't been the Jedi, just someone who looked sort of like him. At least the strange woman hadn't followed.

But Jac realized he had another problem. A much bigger one.

He was thoroughly, hopelessly, and completely lost.

* * *

Obi-Wan had returned to the bar too late to reunite with Jac. The bar-fight was dying down by this point, and Obi-Wan managed to ask a few people if they'd seen a clone- a man whose description he gave. Nobody remembered him, except for one oversized individual who said

"Yeah, I remember him. Bashed that guy through a window. Splat!. Out in the street, right on his ass!," Obi-Wan thought the man should count himself lucky that he was still alive.

So easily could Jac have killed him. That was a chilling thought. Obi-Wan had barely even considered it. Perhaps it had been unwise to unleash a trained killer on a violent and unsuspecting city. Only now did Obi-Wan see things as Jac might. Each flash of insight brought new dawning horror with it.

That woman with her stack of boxes might be concealing a weapon, the swaggering blue man with luminous eyes might well have a knife in his hand. The shouting people might be telling of grenades or declaring vengeance or hatred. The screeching breaks and horns could be sirens, flashing lights cast an alarming glow on everything. Anything and everything might be a threat. Any one of these things, by itself, might well set off the individual who was born and raised to view everything unknown as a potential enemy, and to react to defend his life with lethal force.

_You've really done it this time,_ Obi-Wan told himself, _what were you thinking, bringing a clone to the city?. You idiot, just wait until Anakin hears about this.  
_

This was no time for an emotional tirade. He had to locate Jac before disaster struck. But, though he wandered up one street and down another in the area of the bar, he saw no sign of Jac. He went back to the place they were staying, but Jac wasn't there either.

He tried to see through a clone's eyes, to figure out where one might go. But all he could see on any given side were more things which might cause a clone to snap and go on the offensive.

After spending the night in fruitless searching, Obi-Wan decided he needed help. His first thought was to contact local law enforcement and tell them to keep an eye out. But he could only too easily envision the bloodshed that would follow if they tried to apprehend a disoriented clone.

He decided that it would be a far better thing to contact an expert.

And so, he put in a call and summoned not one, but two. Commander Cody and Corporal Red arrived on Coruscant before daybreak.


	16. The Unlikely 1

**Part 6 – Unlikely**

"_You can listen as well as you hear"  
Mike & The Mechanics (The Living Years)_

* * *

The Clone was tired. He was used to being tired. But not this kind of tired. All night he had been dodging people and vehicles and being invited into and getting kicked out of situations which he didn't understand. There seemed no quiet place in this whole damn city, nothing familiar which he could begin to build on. There was nowhere for him to go, no one for him to contact. Never had he been so alone as he was now. He'd been out of contact before, but always he'd had some purpose, some direction to guide him along. But not here, not now.

His whole life up until this point had been carefully structured. He thrived on balance. Knowing who he was, where he was and what he was about. Even at the darkest periods, when he thought he might die, he'd still known. He was a soldier, bound to be such no matter where he found himself.

But a question had been raised for him. Offer of freedom. And then he had been brought here, to Coruscant. To the city, to the buildings, to the people. This place, with its senseless violence, meaningless noise. This place which never slept. This place which pulsed with life all its own, that was constantly at you, at you all the time.

He had lost his leader, his guide, the man who had brought him here. Now he had no way home. He had been stripped of military hardware, so even the clothing he wore and the boots he had on were strange to him, reminding him that this place was utterly alien to him.

He wondered, not for the first time, what he'd done to deserve this.

Even that thought was foreign. The Clone's life had been ordered in such a way as to invoke acceptance without understanding. You heard your orders, and you obeyed them. That was the beginning, middle and end of your day. No matter how complicated things seemed, it always came down to simple obedience. The Clone liked simple.

This place was anything but. There were no orders to follow, no guidelines to rely on. Nothing he knew about survival would serve him here. Death, he did not fear. But this... if there was a Hell in the world, this had to be it. He just wanted to go home, to get back to the war, to the kind of violence that he understood.

He was so helpless, so clueless, totally at the mercy of a city which in and of itself was unmerciful.

Up one street and down another, ever seeking something to hang on to. Something he could recognize, that would get him out of here, or lead him back to Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man who'd brought him here. But each street revealed only more unpleasant surprises.

The Clone, Sergeant Jac was his name, had become almost totally numb. All the noises blended together into one giant ball of sound. All the lights blurred into one ugly color. All the stuff in the air, more vile than any piece of military machinery, it just smelled like poison. It tasted like that too. But he was even growing numb to that.

He'd actually been afraid for awhile, something he seldom felt. But he was too tired to be scared, almost too tired to be confused. He just wanted out. But, as per usual, the universe didn't give a rip what he wanted, and continued about regardless of him.

That, at least, he was used to.

Strangely, to him at least, not one person he came across recognized him as a clone. They did not see him so much as a soldier, but more a living obstacle, just another thing in their way, to be thrust aside in the pursuit of... who even knew?. Did any of them even know what it was they were looking for?. Or were they every bit as confused as Jac himself?.

Jac had decided that he needed to find somewhere to be, a place where he could stay until he was located. But everywhere he went he met flurries of activity and spasmodic episodes of violence which seemed to have no cause or cure, and he couldn't feel easy being in such spots.

He wanted to get out, to get away. To find some place where he could feel secure; or at least feel capable of defending himself, and understanding when it was that he needed to do so.

As the place got light, he hoped maybe things would look different or better. But all the light did was show the grime on the walls, the scars on people's faces, the filth clogging the streets and blowing across the sidewalks like lost tumbleweed.

He came at last to a place where people had gathered quietly. He could tell they were waiting for something. Some were patient, others not so much. Eventually a transport vehicle arrived. A side door opened and some people got out. The waiting people piled in.

Jac stood there thoughtfully, much to the droid-driver's annoyance. It demanded that he enter or go about his business. Since he had no business, and recognized the tone of authority in the droid's voice, he got in and stood off to one side.

The vehicle lurched forward, then smoothed out. Jac wasn't sure that this was a good idea. But something in the nature of the vehicle and the droid driving it seemed familiar, reminded him of that which he had left behind. Besides, he couldn't get any more lost than he already was.

* * *

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan Kenobi had enlisted the help of Commander Cody and Corporal Red to help him look for Jac. Both clones were deeply unsettled by the city, but not in the same way as Jac had been. They were in their usual gear, minus any obvious weapons. With the wide variety of people here, they didn't stand out enough to raise so much as an eyebrow.

In addition to their still having gear, no offers had been made to them, and they were not being asked to break any rules. Only to help find their missing brother. That they understood. That was simple. Everything else would fall into place around that.

"Where do you think Jac would go?," Obi-Wan asked, after guiding the two clones to the bar where he'd last seen Jac "from here, that is."

Cody and Red looked up the street, and down the street. They looked up at higher levels, and across the traffic clogged street. Red sort of shrugged, and Cody shook his head.

"I don't know, General," Cody told Obi-Wan.

"What about you, Red?. You know Jac. What would he do?."

"I don't know, either. Jac, you see... he's not like other clones. He never does what you expect him to do. Nothing any ordinary clone would do. But I do know that he thinks a lot before doing something. He wouldn't make a move without considering the alternatives."

"So look at his options and tell me which one he'd take," Obi-Wan said patiently.

Red looked up the street, then down, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Okay, we'll try something easier. What is it that the two of you want to do right now?. Anything at all. What is it that you want?."

"Away from the noise," Cody admitted with some reluctance.

"Somewhere with fewer people, so they wouldn't have to push me around to get by," Red said vehemently "I don't like being touched."

"So off the street then?," Obi-Wan sought clarification.

Cody and Red exchanged looks, and Cody nodded "yes."

"Alright. We'll circle the block, and you tell me if you see any buildings you'd go into if you were... separated from your unit," he didn't want to say what he was thinking. _Lost_.

What a terrible thing for a clone, to be lost.

The lights weren't as distracting as they'd been the night before, what with daylight seeming to dim them. But they went all the way around the block, and neither Cody nor Red saw a building they'd feel safe getting near, never mind going inside. Too many people, too many activities, too many things they didn't understand coming in and out and going 'round and 'round.

"Okay, so there's not a building here you want anything to do with. What do you do next?."

Cody and Red thought about that.

"Stay here," Red said.

"Go to wherever we started, hope to regroup," was Cody's vote.

"Obviously he didn't stay here," Obi-Wan said "do you think he could have gotten lost, trying to get back?."

Cody and Red looked around. Cody answered "yes" at the same time Red said "definitely".

"Why?."

"There's no clear route to anywhere," Cody was quick on that one "streets start off one way, then go another, or nowhere at all. People seem to be going somewhere, but no two people arrive at the same place at the same time. You can't see where you are for all the buildings, which are all covered with neon so you can't tell one from the other."

"Basically," Red added.

Obi-Wan took a fresh look at the city. The clones were right. He'd never thought about how haphazard cities were, how little sense their streets and signs seemed to make. For a clone used to marching in more or less straight lines and fighting out in the open, often in the wilderness or crumbled ruins, this must be very confusing. In fact, Obi-Wan remembered a time or two when he'd gotten lost here.

_Great,_ Obi-Wan thought, _he could be anywhere._

He didn't know what to do, and kept looking around, trying to get a sense of... something. Cody stood and watched him. Red sort of drifted, perhaps following his own instincts and inclinations. When Obi-Wan next looked for him, he was standing near a group of people waiting for a bus.

He looked over at Cody, who was watching Red from a distance. The bus arrived, opened its doors. People got in and out, and the droid fumed at Red. Red shied away from it, easing his way towards Cody, casting suspicious glances at the bus as it drove off.

The two clones exchanged glances and Red shrugged.

"What was that all about?," Obi-Wan asked.

"I was curious," Red admitted, shame-faced.

"About what?."

"Well, everything's so chaotic and all over the place, I wondered what made the people line up like that. I guess I know now."

_Order,_ Obi-Wan thought, _an unbalanced clone would seek balance, just like everyone else. In the chaos, he gravitates towards order._

This was more disheartening than encouraging. The buses went just about everywhere. Without knowing when, where or if Jac had boarded one, it would be fully impossible to figure out where he'd ended up. But Red's attraction to the bus stop was the first break they'd had.

* * *

The bus stopped, and Jac got off. He watched it go on its way. He wondered if it would be back. His innate sense of direction told him that he'd overshot his mark by several miles. He was farther from his goal, not closer. Not that it seemed to matter. He'd spent the night almost right on top of where he wanted to be, but unable to actually reach it.

He hung around the bus stop for awhile, mostly because it was as close to comfortable he'd found since coming here. Nobody was at this stop, he guessed maybe the bus wouldn't come back. Still, he was reluctant to leave the spot.

"Hey, mister, want to buy a rock?."

Jac looked down at the human child who'd approached him. The boy had a tussle of black hair, and seemed about ten years old. A younger child, a girl, held his hand and looked at the ground. Jac couldn't imagine what he'd want with a rock.

"Come on, I've got some really neat ones," the boy headed off towards an alley, the girl in tow.

Jac shifted slightly, but didn't follow. The boy spoke to him like a familiar, but Jac was sure they'd never met. There was something wrong in his manner too. He was too quick, too eager. But Jac wasn't quite ready to trust his first impression. He'd been wrong so consistently that he didn't really want to make a judgment one way or the other. Maybe the problem would go away if he just ignored it.

"Aren't you coming?," the boy had reappeared at the head of the alley "come on!."

Jac didn't much want to. He wanted... well... it didn't matter what he wanted, did it?. He'd been looking for something to hold to. He'd been directed to get on the bus, and that had worked out alright. Jac naturally leaned towards obedience, even if he didn't know who was giving the orders or why.

It was in his nature, and his training, to obey a given command. That the command was issued by a boy he didn't even know made little difference, given the circumstances. Above his own adherence to the voice of command, Jac was also very trusting. In spite of everything which he'd learned and experienced, it was his first instinct to trust. That was part of what made clones so obedient.

And so, Jac obeyed.

Any city dweller could have warned Jac about following strangers into dark alleys. Anyone would have said that the only purpose of such places is to conceal muggers. They would, of course, have had to explain to Jac what a mugger was.

As it was, he found out the hard way when four figures appeared out of the shadows and closed in on him. Jac might not have understood how he'd come to be under threat, but he knew dangerous when he saw it. He knew also that he was at a disadvantage. He had no weapons, and was outnumbered. More than that, he was not in top form. He'd been released from the hands of doctors, certainly, but hadn't been returned to the field because he wasn't strong enough yet.

His mind absurdly recalled that a fight was how he'd gotten into this mess. He shoved that thought to the back, instead letting a sense of calm take hold so that he could focus on his own defense. Here was something he understood, something he _was_ trained to deal with.

The muggers themselves were about to find out that they'd made a mistake. They wanted easy money. They had seen Jac's unease and taken him for an easy mark. Even had that been the case, the fact of the matter was that Jac didn't have anything worth stealing.

The boy and girl had been instructed to hide behind some of the trash in the alley until it was over. Usually it was over quickly, and they moved on fast. But not tonight.

The "easy" mark recovered from his surprise more quickly than anticipated. He went immediately on the defensive, and didn't once make move to retreat. If they'd known what he was, they would have known why. As it was, they mistakenly believed that it was a sort of over-confident arrogance, a sinful pride which made him stand his ground.

In reality, they were the ones who were over-confident. And it was their own pride in their scheme, which had worked well for a long time, that made them discount the warning signs that they'd bitten off more than they really wanted to chew.

Jac knocked aside the first assault, and anticipated the second. At this point, his attackers noticed a coldness come into his eyes, far darker than their own. Though the four of them enjoyed the violence of a good mugging, they cast themselves in higher light than true killers, because they generally left their victims alive. Here they were faced with someone who could, and probably would, kill them. And he wouldn't even lose any sleep over it.

Once the attack had started, they didn't know how to stop. They kept taking turns running at him, each trying to get in behind him, to knock him down or inflict a wound which would drive him to the ground. But he had an awareness of their tactics, and deftly side-stepped the thrust of a knife, and rolled when struck from the side.

It was all they could do to keep him off the wall, to prevent him from protecting himself with a solid object at his back. Once he cornered himself, they realized that it would be all over. The only thing keeping them even was coming at him from all sides.

Like ravening wolves, they drove at him, "worrying" their prey into exhaustion. It shouldn't have been difficult, considering how tired Jac already was. But Jac was a fighter. It's what he had been made for. It was as much a part of what he was as his own red blood.

There were also times where openings for retreat were offered. Jac's attackers found themselves just wishing he'd go away. They'd gotten a tiger by the tail, and weren't sure what to do next. They were outclassed, they figured that out. But Jac didn't retreat. Each time his attackers gave any ground, he advanced at once, and held the new line unless he was forced back.

The sound of a siren distracted all five combatants for an instant. Instinct drove the would-be muggers to flee into the shadows. Jac watched them go for a moment, wondering what this new sound was. He'd heard sirens before, but not like this. Whatever it was, it was bad news.

He wondered what he was supposed to do about it. A siren or alarm generally meant to report to battle stations, or to evacuate. Great, if he only had some way of doing either of those things. He'd love to evacuate. He didn't like it here.

A stab of pain in his midsection told him that his healing wound was quite thoroughly disgusted with all the activity. As the adrenaline from the fight seeped out of his system, he felt his legs buckle under him and sank down to his knees. Though the muggers had done little more than inflict shallow wounds, the fight had taken the last of Jac's already nearly depleted energy reserves.

In their panic, the muggers had left the kids, who now stepped out. They'd never seen the aftermath of a fight before, and had never fully understood what they were doing. They'd been told that sirens were bad news, that they'd better disappear if they heard any. If that were true, the boy reasoned, then the guy they'd lured into the alley better do that too.

He came and knelt in front of the ailing clone, a little bit scared. Jac had forgotten the boy in the heat of the fight, and never thought to associate him with what had happened.

"Come on, we shouldn't be here," the boy said.

Jac, however, was reluctant to follow this child any farther. The boy seemed to hang around dangerous places, and Jac didn't really want another fight on his hands. He didn't move, so the boy tried to take his arm and pull him up. Jac jerked his arm away on instinct, eyes flashing momentarily.

"Come on!," the boy repeated, more urgently.

Now the little girl was at him too. She was at his other side, pushing feebly at him. Jac barely noticed her, even as she pushed with all her tiny might to get him up. The kids were scared, he realized. He wasn't sure if they'd been scared before. He recalled that they'd had something wrong about them.

Shakily, he got to his feet. He followed the boy only slowly, with grave hesitation. At every corner and shadow, he stopped dead, suspicious of what might lie beyond. The boy would have to come back, grab him by the hand and urge him onward.

After traversing a number of winding passages between buildings, they arrived at a run down sort of place. The building wasn't much to look at. A slapped together affair, sagging in places it shouldn't and covered from stem to stern with graffiti, dried on mud, and on the side that was shaded by the next building over, a sort of moss or fungus or something. It was gray-green, rather like the inside of the building had once been before want of paint and acts of vandalism had reduced it to a cacophony of color which all smeared itself into a sort of ill-looking brown.

Jac was reluctant to follow the boy inside, but eventually did. The boy encouraged him up some stairs and down a litter-filled hallway, then through a door, which the girl shut behind them.

"We're safe now," the boy announced brightly "you can relax."

Jac, for his part, did not believe that was true.


	17. The Unlikely 2

Two children living by themselves in a shoddy apartment didn't strike Jac as odd at all. His own rearing (if you could call it that) was so far removed from what others might consider to be normal that he had almost no notion of what others might think of as ordinary.

The children were Iyan and Jez. Jez never spoke, just stood watching out of wide, dark eyes. She frequently had her hand in her mouth and tended to hide behind her brother most of the time, following him everywhere like a little shadow.

The two children pretty much ignored Jac. They were used to acting independently of adults. They did not look to him to interact with them in any way. It was just as well. Children were one of those topics clones weren't typically educated about. With the exception of clones who eventually acted as teachers for other clones. Those clones learned about clone children, but little else.

Though Jac had a natural affinity for children, to him they were as alien as anything. Their movement and mannerisms were strange, and he couldn't understand them. Children, contrary to popular opinion, are far from being tiny adults.

The apartment didn't have any furniture to speak of in the main room, but Jac didn't notice that. He just picked a wall away from the barred windows and facing the door and sat down with his back against it. From this position, he watched the two children go about their business.

He liked it here. It was quiet. Quiet was good. It was also a relatively secure, defensible position. He liked that too. It seemed to be exactly what he'd been looking for all night.

Interestingly, though Jac had been surrounded by people, not one of them had actually seen him. Not really. But these two kids did. They saw he was unlike other adults, saw that he seemed as baffled and mildly accepting of the world that they, as children, had to be. Perhaps it was this that had made them bring Jac to their home. He was like them in a way.

"Here. Catch," Iyan threw something Jac's way, and he caught it.

Some sort of meal in a can. Jac carefully set it down. Training prevented him from eating anything he couldn't test first. The boy shrugged and got out a can for him and his sister to share. Jac watched them eat with a minimum of interest. Of all his problems, hunger seemed like the least. The two children passed the can back and forth, taking turns eating out of it.

Jac noticed that Iyan let Jez have the last few bits in the can, meaning she got a little more than he did. It told Jac something that they were sharing the food, told him that there wasn't much to be had. It also told him something to see that the boy gave his sister more than he got himself.

Though selfishness was a strange thing to him, he'd seen it many times in others. It was common among people to be greedy and demanding. He was used to serving such people. But he'd seen his share of selfless acts as well. But there was something unusually profound in this small act, which was performed in such a casual way as to imply that it had happened a thousand times before.

After finishing, the boy put the empty can in a bag with several others. Without being prompted, Jac picked up his unopened can and handed it to the boy, who put it away in the cupboard he'd first gotten it from. Jez followed Iyan around during this, then yawned widely and began to look around for a place to sleep. There was a rumpled blanket on the floor and she went over to it.

She stared at it, contemplating something, and then picked it up by the corner and dragged it over to Jac. Without invitation, she settled next to him and pulled the blanket over her. Jac had not the heart to protest, though he wasn't especially used to being touched.

* * *

As it turned out, the bus service had film capture of all who got on and off the buses. It still took Obi-Wan, Cody and Red some time to sift through them and find the exact bus and the exact time that Jac had boarded. He hadn't stayed on very long.

"He couldn't have gone far," Obi-Wan said when they arrived at the stop where Jac had gotten off.

Red gave him a funny look, started to say something, then stopped himself, shaking his head. Jac could have gone anywhere by now, if he'd had some kind of incentive. But it wouldn't do to contradict a Jedi. Besides, what difference would it make?.

They searched about in the same way they'd done before, Obi-Wan often hanging back to let the clones work independently instead of cuing on him. They'd been taught to "follow the leader", but that wouldn't do anybody any good here and now.

He paid special attention to anything which seemed to even briefly catch Red's interest. Red knew Jac better, for one. Cody knew Obi-Wan better for the other. Where Red would tend towards his own impressions of things, or maybe Jac's, Cody would, without even thinking about it, try to anticipate and act on Obi-Wan's preferences.

There were times, a few anyway, that the docility and obedient nature of clones was actually more a handicap than anything. This was one such time.

It was testament to Cody's own specialized training and experience as an independent thinker that he too tended to look to Red, rather than following his own inclinations. Both Obi-Wan and Cody noticed Red sort of eying the apartment buildings. The reason was obvious.

They were quieter, not so flashy as other places. Fewer people, less activity and several had good views of the streets. Secure, defensible. And probably occupied.

_I should never have brought him here,_ Obi-Wan thought, not for the first time.

He wondered again what Anakin would have to say about his lapse of judgment. He'd acted without thinking first, which was exactly what he was always accusing Anakin of doing.

"Jac's pretty mellow," Red said, as though somehow sensing Obi-Wan's unease "he likes to avoid conflict when he can. If he's gotten into trouble, you can bet somebody else started it,"

Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether he was more startled by the revelation about Jac, or the perceptiveness of Red. Either way, it was surprising, and conflicted with Obi-Wan's general view of the average clone.

* * *

Jac didn't want any trouble. He _never_ wanted any trouble. But trouble always seemed to find him, sometimes in the most astonishing and unbelievable fashion. Jac probably didn't fully appreciate the uniqueness of many of his experiences. This one, for instance.

He had been taken to Coruscant, by a Jedi no less, specifically to "absorb the atmosphere" (he wasn't sure what that phrase meant. It sounded ominous). He'd gotten lost, something he seldom did. He'd wandered aimlessly for hours, all night in fact. And then he'd finally been lured into a dark alley by a promise of something which he didn't even want simply because it was in his nature to obey. And that had led him here. And that was not even counting the events which had led him to Coruscant to begin with. Still more amazing was that Red had, almost unerringly, led Obi-Wan straight to the building Jac had arrived at. Which says perhaps as much about the remarkableness of Red as it does about Jac.

But it wasn't Red who finally located Jac. In fact, one could potentially claim that it was Iyan and Jez's father who made the discovery.

It is not difficult to manipulate a clone under most circumstances, no matter how devoted he is. From the beginning of his physical development to his later mental conditioning, Jac and those like him were designed to act as subordinates. They were meant to be on a battlefield, serving under a commander who would always tell them where to go, what to do when they got there and forget the why.

Tired and confused, whatever mental defense Jac might normally have possessed was down. It had happened before, but never quite like this. When he heard it, he did not question it, not for a moment. He accepted it as fact, an incomplete but nevertheless clear order.

_Hostile._

A single word in his head, like the ping off a submarine. Enough to make him sit up and take note. When the door opened and a man stepped inside, Jac didn't stop to wonder who he was or why he was there. He had heard the word, knew instinctively that it was applied to this intruder.

What Obi-Wan had so feared (if that is the right word for it), was about to come true.

Jac was in no way hindered by the little girl, who had stiffened as the door opened. She was still right next to him, but no longer leaning. When he moved, he did so fluidly, with all the swiftness granted him by design and training.

The man was no slouch. He saw the stranger, and reacted to the perceived threat. He was no soldier, but he was a survivor. He slipped to the side at the last second. Jac pivoted, but the wood flooring gave him no traction. His shoulder crashed into the door, causing it to shut, as well as buckle.

The girl screamed. It was the first sound she had uttered. It was also what attracted the attention of Obi-Wan, three floors below. In a scummy part of the city, a scream isn't much of a novelty. But there was something within the cry. Obi-Wan felt inexplicably drawn to it. It meant something.

"Follow me," he ordered, though upon reflection he would realize that it was unnecessary.

After all, what else were Cody and Red going to do, take the next bus out of town?.

Obi-Wan's method was more direct than the clones', however. Where he simply gathered himself, leaped and crashed through the window, the clones had to actually climb the stairs.

The seconds made a difference.

Jac had the "hostile" by the throat and had lifted him about a foot in the air. Obi-Wan's arrival made no impression on any of the room's occupants. He'd crashed through the window directly behind Jac, though it was doubtful The Clone would have noticed if he'd landed right on his head.

Obi-Wan knew The Clone didn't have to strangle the man to kill him. It would be a simple matter to tear out the man's throat, or snap his neck. A fraction of a second, and it would be over.

"Jac, drop him!. Stand down!."

Obi-Wan had no doubt about whether The Clone would obey, it was just a matter of when. The brain is a strange thing, and there was no telling if Jac's would process the command before it had sent the impulse to kill down to his hand. For a breath, Obi-Wan thought he'd been too late.

Then the man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Jac's hands fell to his sides and he looked down at the floor. Not the man, just the floor. He did not turn towards Obi-Wan. For an absurd moment, Obi-Wan thought he looked like a droid whose power source had been cut.

But Jac wasn't completely motionless. He was trembling, and breathing hard. An uneasy feeling came to Obi-Wan. Jac was not trembling from exhaustion, but because he was fighting against something. Obi-Wan's eyes traveled the room, and settled on the little girl.

Her dark eyes gazed right back, and Obi-Wan could feel the simple power of her presence. He wasn't sure at first, but it didn't take him long to realize that she was possessed of powers not dissimilar to his own. Unrefined, but extremely strong.

As soon as he'd realized that, Obi-Wan could all too plainly see the link between her and Jac, her control like a chain about his neck.

_She shouldn't be able to do that,_ Obi-Wan thought.

But, then again, he'd never seen an untrained Force sensitive child interact with a clone before. How would he know what was normal and what wasn't?. After all, of all the things in the universe, clones were likely the easiest to manipulate. Obi-Wan felt an unaccustomed breath of sorrow in the thought. Jedi mind tricks work on the weak minded. That was often misinterpreted as "the stupid and slow witted". Obi-Wan, of course, knew better. He was pretty sure Jac wasn't stupid, and he _knew_ Cody wasn't. Yet they were bound to be always in a position of obedience because... of what?. Weak minds?. Was that a fair term?. Obi-Wan supposed it was the most accurate, if not the kindest.

The girl's dark eyes flicked from Obi-Wan to the man on the floor. There was fear behind her haunting gaze. Her power shook with it. She had seen a way out, and had taken it.

"He can't hurt you now," Obi-Wan said to the girl, indicating the man on the floor.

The man was lying in a heap, he was still alive. He was gasping and choking, and unable to get up. But he was alive. The girl responded to the statement. She blinked, and Jac abruptly shook himself and eased his way back behind Obi-Wan. He'd had enough of this. He just wanted out.

It was about this time that Cody and Red came crashing through the door. The girl's eyes flashed as she turned on them. Almost at once, they started to back away, then checked themselves. She wasn't strong enough to impose her will on them both completely and they questioned their actions.

Cody recognized the threat for what it was, and would have raised a rifle if he'd had one. As it was, he had barely made a move towards the girl when Obi-Wan lifted a silent hand to stay him. Cody didn't want to, but he obeyed. He knew the dangers of mind control. Clones were so easily coerced into doing things.

"We are not your enemy," Obi-Wan told the girl calmly "we just came looking... for our friend," he turned his head slightly to indicate Jac.

It was well that he did not try to explain the situation in full. The girl would not have understood it, and might have even been frightened by it. As it was, she lowered her eyes and slid in behind her brother silently.

"Well, I can't say as I envisioned this end to our little adventure," Obi-Wan said dryly.

"Sorry, Sir," Jac's voice was quieter than usual.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what Jac was apologizing for. Perhaps the whole fiasco. You could never really tell with clones. Sometimes they seemed to be apologetic just because they thought they should be, but weren't sure themselves what they were apologizing for.

* * *

It all seemed to work out for the best, however. Jez and Iyan were a new topic of discussion for the council, but Obi-Wan wanted no part of that. He'd already leaped out and demanded one Padawan, and that seemed quite enough. Especially since he seemed to have done a pretty poor job of teaching Anakin anything about self-control or patience.

Obi-Wan still couldn't figure out for the life of him what was so special about Jac. But The Clone seemed to have significant impact on whoever he met, and odd events seemed to follow him wherever he went. Thinking of all the things which could have happened, and seemed like they should have, Obi-Wan found it more than a little unlikely for things to have played out as they did in the end.

_I bring a clone to Coruscant, the heart of the Galaxy, and the first thing he does is find a Force sensitive child which the council never knew about._ Coincidence?. Obi-Wan couldn't believe that.

Jac never did learn anything much about Iyan or Jez. Iyan did eventually admit that he had intentionally lured Jac into an alley, but nobody ever told The Clone about it. It was something, one of many things, that he simply didn't need to know.

"I hope you realize," Obi-Wan said "that what happened to you is not typical. And Coruscant is not the only planet out there."

"I realize that, Sir," Jac replied, though there was no telling if this was truth or merely habitual agreement with whatever a Jedi told him.

It seemed likely that it was the latter. After having said he understood, Jac added (very hesitantly, as though afraid of bringing trouble down on his head by expressing a preference for something) that he would very much like to "get back to work".

Jac even got to meet Palpatine once. The man seemed frankly astonished that Jac should actually _want_ to go back to what he'd been doing (Palpatine listed off a number of hardships including hunger, cold, wet, being shot at, watching others of his kind die and so on).

"There's a squad I'm responsible for," Jac answered "I'd like to get back to them."

"I'm sure there are plenty of other soldiers perfectly qualified to lead them," Palpatine argued.

"That there are, Sir," Jac's reply was submissive in tone, but steadfast in content "but I'm the one who was put in charge of them. Until relieved of that responsibility, I intend to do my best to keep them alive. I can't very well do that on some pleasure planet."

Absolute loyalty, total obedience and a certain aggressive streak which allowed them to be very proficient at their work. All of these were classic clone traits. A sense of responsibility... not so much. Although, if one stopped to consider the training and application of the clones, one might realize that a sense of responsibility or duty was inevitable.

Jac had suddenly felt very lucky not to be standing alone with this man. There was something in Palpatine's eyes, something that didn't make Jac feel at all easy. This, he knew, was not someone he could trust.

"Isn't there anything you want?," Palpatine had asked "anything at all?."

Jac had thought for a seemingly endless few seconds. Then, he finally shrugged and said:

"I wouldn't mind visiting Coruscant again someday."

After that, Jac (along with Lucky Squad) was reassigned. But not to Anakin. Instead, a certain General by the name of Kenobi put in a request (more of a demand, really) that the entirety of Lucky Squad be placed under his command. So seldom did Obi-Wan ask for specific units that there was little question but that he would get them.

"It looks like you won," Anakin would later comment to Obi-Wan.

"I didn't realize it was a contest," was Obi-Wan's reply (Anakin was sure he heard smugness there, but whether or not that was the case is open to debate).

"Everything's a contest," Anakin told him, perhaps at least half-joking.


	18. The Unlikely 3

Jac had never expected to find himself here again. The planet of the Baivd was one which had been fought for, and lost by the Republic. The Baivd hadn't shown much interest in allying themselves, or even in being rescued in the first place.

On returning, he had expected to find a slaughtered people. He thought the town which had been used as a base for Republic troops would have been burned to ash. But the buildings still stood, broken and scorched only as much as they had been the last time he was here. The people, best he could tell, were untouched.

Jac wasn't alone. The rest of Lucky Squad, including its two newest additions, were with him. Jac hadn't quite decided how he felt about the new guys yet. There hadn't been time. No sooner had he met them than a new crisis had sprung up.

The Separatists seemed to have developed a new weapon, some sort of gas grenade that killed clones in droves. They didn't die at once, but instead often staggered off and wound up spreading whatever it was like the plague. Nobody knew what it was at first, but then one bright fellow (whose name Jac never learned) had noticed a similarity between the weapon and an incident on the world of the Baivd.

General Obi-Wan Kenobi, whom Lucky Squad now served under, had dispatched them and a few other squads to investigate. He would have gone himself, but there was another battle demanding his attention. He hadn't much liked the idea of clones acting as investigators, but there hadn't been a lot of choice, especially considering that the Baivd had only accepted one person _ever_, and that was Jac.

He was the only one to whom they would speak. And it was very possible the Baivd would know if there was a Separatist weapon manufacturing facility on the planet somewhere.

Nobody said anything about it, but all of Lucky Squad remembered all too clearly what had transpired here. They recalled to mind the brothers they'd known, the ones who had fallen here. One might think it would be Jac who was most affected, but it actually seemed to be Red who was shaken to the core.

Jac did, however, halt in the middle of "main street". The other clones weren't sure why he'd stopped, and they looked around uneasily. They didn't know that it was here that Gunshy had died. Gunshy, the clone who would not carry a rifle, whose extraordinary skill in the medical field had kept him in service in spite of the obvious handicap, who had been murdered in an act of revenge against Jac.

"I don't understand either," Red told Jac quietly.

Whatever Jac might have said in response to this was cut short by the appearance of a Baivd female. All Baivd looked pretty much alike to the clones (which is saying something since the clones themselves were basically identical to one another, yet they rarely had trouble recognizing one brother from another), but Jac knew her immediately.

She had no name that he knew of, but had often spoken to him. Those who hadn't been to this planet raised their rifles almost on instinct, then lowered them when the majority of Lucky Squad showed no reaction to the sudden appearance of this strange creature.

"You are greeted," the Baivd said in her lilting voice.

She gestured with a hand, and the clones realized that there were several other Baivd sort of gathered around. Transparent skin and dark eyes made them difficult to recognize in the shadows of their buildings.

Jac didn't make small talk, leaping at once into a description of why they had returned. There was a kind of animal here that clones were deathly allergic to. It sounded funny to anyone who hadn't been present when Jac had nearly died as a result of direct exposure to them.

The theory was that, though it seemed more a matter of ingestion than simple physical contact, the gas was somehow derived from these creatures. The Baivd called the creatures Sacred, while the clones preferred the term woolly-cows. The air-born allergen would be easily spread. It would come to rest on the affected clones like a layer of dust or pollen, and would spread to any who had contact with them.

Jac didn't explain that part, explaining only that the Separatists were making something poisonous to clones, and he thought they were making it here. He wasn't sure the Baivd woman understood. Sometimes she seemed incredibly wise, as though she knew almost everything; other times she seemed impossibly primitive.

Jac remembered when he'd left, he'd felt some kind of understanding of the Baivd. Like he'd somehow learned their language. But that seemed to be gone. He was reduced to simple sentences and persistent gesturing. The Baivd woman simply looked at him out of shadowy eyes, seeming disinterested.

"I don't think you're going to get anywhere with that one," another sergeant, Conor, told him "you might as well be talking to the breeze."

Conor might have been just a little annoyed that Lucky Squad was leading this mission. Intellectually, he probably understood that it was Lucky Squad's experience, but he couldn't help but feel a little stung that this new squad out of nowhere would be getting preferential treatment. Still, he wasn't prepared to cause any trouble. He just didn't have any faith in Jac, or Lucky Squad.

"She understands," Jac returned "but I'm not sure she knows how to answer. The Baivd don't talk like most people do."

"Gone far," the Baivd said, addressing Jac.

"Who's gone far?," Conor wanted to know.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on Jac's chest. He checked himself when he instinctively tried to move back. She looked at him, a beseeching look in her eyes. Jac looked back at her, wondering where his ability to understand the Baivd had gone.

"Well this is getting us nowhere," Bristler said aside to Red.

"You got a better plan?," Red returned quietly.

"Let's move," Jac interrupted, before Bristler could respond.

"Where are we going?," Conor asked.

"Southeast."

"Why?."

"Because she told us to," Jac answered, indicating the Baivd with one hand.

"How can you tell?," Conor asked, genuinely wanting an answer.

"I listened to her," Jac replied.

He headed out, Lucky Squad right with him. The rest followed suit, each one sort of pausing and taking a curious look at the Baivd woman, who stood perfectly still while they passed. It didn't look to them like she'd said anything, but evidently they were wrong. Either that or Jac was nuts. That was always possible. And it certainly seemed more likely than his being a mind reader.

What Jac had nearly forgotten, and what the others never knew, was that communicating with the Baivd was about allowing it to happen. There was nothing you could do to make it happen. You had to drop preconceived notions about speaking and just listen, not just with your ears, but with your being. Your soul, if you will.

Jac's understanding was nothing mystic, nothing magical, it was just a matter of being patient, mild of temper and relatively open of mind. It sprang from his own acceptance that he was a lesser creature, a confused insect among giants. He was used to that from having been around Jedi.

When allowed, the Baivd were great teachers and eloquent "speakers". But their way of speaking was very different from all others and, though it was very easy to understand, the listener had to be paying attention and also be willing to "think outside the box".

They had a way of knowing who was ready to be spoken to, and who was not. They saw in Jac a willing and able pupil. Without even realizing it, he'd learned much from the Baivd.

Chances were, nobody else would ever realize it, either. Even the Jedi, with all their wisdom, had seen the Baivd, and concluded that they were primitive, barely able to communicate. The Baivd were, in fact, beyond all. They had never been in danger from the Separatists, because there was nothing that could be done to them. There was no damage they could not repair, and the Separatist troops had never been able to find any Baivd.

They had, however, found the Sacred.

The facility, when the clones found it, was virtually unguarded. The Separatists clearly believed the Baivd world was abandoned by the Republic and was going to stay that way. Jac had expected some resistance somewhere along the line, but there hadn't even been a ship in space when the clones were dropped in and everything in this building was fully automated, the droids doing the work weren't even Separatist troops.

Jac was suspicious of how open the building was, but it was his assignment to investigate, so he couldn't very well avoid it just because it gave him a weird feeling.

The clones weren't scientists. The inside of the building had machinery everywhere, everything doing something. The clones didn't really know what. But there was a holding pen containing a number of the woolly-cows (or Sacred). The animals shuffled around and bellowed to one another, shaking their heads at the walls morosely.

Jac felt a shudder run down his spine at sight of the animals. Strangely, it had nothing to do with the incredibly negative experience he'd had with them. He remembered the trouble they'd caused, and couldn't possibly forget the pain they'd brought on him. But there was some inherent wrongness to their confinement. Woolly-cows to clones, Sacred to the Baivd.

He turned away from them, and found himself facing a computer terminal whose screen showed a familiar image, as nearly forgotten as the speech of the Baivd. But Jac remembered, distantly. He couldn't quite pin it down, but he knew what he was looking at.

His mind flashed images like a projector, even as he couldn't think of the words or really recall the events surrounding the pictures.

"Damn," this comment came from Bristler, looking over Jac's shoulder "I don't believe it."

"What?," Red asked, looking from the image to Jac to Bristler and back again.

"Eglamork," Jac said distantly, as though speaking of something from a dream.

"What?," Red repeated.

"Flying Death," Bristler explained, which didn't clear anything up for Red.

"What?," Red was persistent, you had to give him that.

Jac blinked and looked away from the image. He began to explain to Red.

The Eglamork, or Flying Death, was a creature native to the planet of Aakaria, home of a cat-like race known as the Na'tave. Jac had been present during the campaign for Aakaria (a campaign which had been not lost, but abandoned, by the Republic).

The Na'tave leader had disapproved of the use of clones, and refused aid, even knowing that she and her people would likely be crushed by the Separatists without Republic troops to help them.

The Eglamorks were snake-like creatures with wings and feathers, and a deadly poisonous bite.

Jac had no sooner explained this than he endeavored to make contact with Obi-Wan so that he could report what the clones had found. It took a bit, but he eventually succeeded.

"That must be how they got it air born," Obi-Wan speculated "combining the venom with the allergen."

Jac had never seen a clone die from the toxin, but he had seen the results of Eglamork bites and felt the allergic reaction to the Sacred. He couldn't help but wince at the idea of the two combined. It was a horrific way to die. Worse was that you didn't just die, you infected anyone unlucky enough to come across you, even if you were already dead at the time. Nasty stuff.

"I don't think this is where the stuff is being manufactured," Jac said "it looks to me like this is just a holding facility. They keep the woolly-cows here, extract what they need from the animals and transport it to some other location for refinement."

"Well then it won't do much good to destroy the facility. If they have a sample, they can replicate it. We need to put a stop to production, not just slow it down," Obi-Wan said.

"What are your orders?," Jac asked.

"You take Lucky Squad to Aakaria. The rest of the troops will remain behind. I'll send more when I can. I want the facility destroyed, and the Separatists prevented from building another."

"Sir."

"And, if you find another facility on Aakaria, report it immediately. Don't try to take it out yourselves, wait for reinforcements before moving in. No sense getting yourselves killed for no reason."

"Yes sir."

Aakaria. That was another place The Clone had never expected to return to.


	19. Fallen Idols 1

**Part 7 – Fallen Idols**

"_In avoiding one evil, care must be taken not to fall into another"  
Aesop's Fables_

* * *

The Clone stood on the crest of a red sand dune. He could have been doing anything, looking for anything. Strung out behind him was the squad known as Lucky. Of the squad, only he and one other had been to this planet before. And he alone had been on the desert portion.

Sergeant Jac was one of many clones who had fought hard for Aakaria, then been faced with having to abandon the planet with the prospect of returning to root the Separatists out a second time. In the end, it had been Jac who had changed everything.

He hadn't done it on purpose. The Na'tave ruler, Majesty Meisheb, had spoken extensively with him, and decided that her people wanted no part of a Republic who would treat its subjects as the clones were treated. She said she would rather her people be destroyed than to allow themselves to become so corrupt as to let their planet be drenched with the blood of those who did not even want to save it.

The Republic and Aakaria had gone their separate ways.

It was clear to Jac that the Separatists had moved in. Great battles had been fought. When he had been here before, smooth sand had stretched away seemingly to infinity, but now its surface was marred and scorched by war. Skeletons of Na'taves, their bones picked clean by scavenging animals, were dotted here and there. They did not collect their dead, nor mourn them in the traditional sense, but allowed them to remain where they fell. It was, in fact, against their beliefs to disturb a body of their own once dead. There were remains of droids as well, crumpled and gathering dust.

There had been no attempt to contact Aakaria before the clones arrived, for fear the Separatists might be ruling it and be tipped off. It was a sort of stealth mission. There were units trained for just that, but Lucky Squad was not one of them.

It seemed that, no matter how many new units were constantly being turned out, the ranks of the clones were always spread too thin. Lucky Squad was the next best thing, because Jac had been to Aakaria before, had dealt directly with the Na'taves and knew much of the Eglamorks, or Flying Death.

He knew the terrain, and was used to working around the peculiarly awful radio reception. He wasn't the only one. There was also Bristler, who had served with Jac at an outpost here on Aakaria some time ago. For the rest, Corporal Red, Luey, Tag, and the two new guys on the squad , this was a wholly new experience. For Jac, it was almost like coming home, returning to a point of origin.

Something had happened to him here that he was never quite able to explain. He'd been to many planets before Aakaria, but this one was different. He'd sort of... become what he was now here. It had, in a way, been his proving ground. He'd learned and experienced a great deal here.

The clones were looking for a Separatist facility that was manufacturing one component of a poison gas grenade. They were beginning their search in what seemed a likely location. They'd have to get there on foot, since it seemed unwise to land directly on top of it. The building where the Na'tave Majesty lived seemed as good a spot as any to start with.

There were actually two varieties of Eglamorks, the ones who lived in the desert and the ones who thrived in the rain forest. There had been some tests run which determined that the Eglamorks in question were most likely of the desert variety.

The building Jac remembered had been bombed, it was just an unholy shell of its former self. The place was abandoned, and it seemed as though it had been for a long time. The great tall structure was in ruins, and other, smaller buildings around it were little more than sad heaps in the sand.

The clones had inspected the area as thoroughly as they could, and run scans of the surrounding area. There had been no sign of the Na'taves, or Separatist troops. At least, none that were still alive and functioning. Bodies, mostly buried by sand, were everywhere.

"Well that was a wonderful waste of time," Bristler grumbled.

He hadn't liked Aakaria the first time around, and he'd only served in the nicest section, a thin sliver of rain forest running in a band around the planet, the border between desert and darkness.

"The mine," Jac said, though it didn't seem related to Bristler's comment.

"What about it?," Bristler wanted to know.

The Republic had once had a mining operation on the planet, as it was a source of valuable ore for weapon making. That was before Meisheb had sent the Republic away. An uprising of Na'tave rogues had killed several clones in protest to the Republic's presence on their world. The mine, like the outpost, had been abandoned.

"If you wanted to keep droids functional, where would you go?. The heat and sand wouldn't be good for them, and neither would the cold and wet. Sure, they could tolerate it for awhile, but the Separatists would want the droids to stay in good working order. There's only one place which would be dry and not too extreme in temperature."

The rain forest was, as its name might imply, extremely wet. Except in the one area where the ore was, where it rained only a little. The thin stripe of forest was of moderate temperature.

The clones were equipped with a ground transport vehicle. It wouldn't take too long to get from one place to another, but Jac did have certain reservations. Aakaria was a very dangerous place, in more ways than its fierce weather. The Na'taves were an unpredictable lot and, assuming any still lived, might well attack the clones just because they could. There were also a number of animals on Aakaria that could give even a well-armed platoon a lot of grief.

The Eglamorks were not the least of these. Eglamorks were fast, agile creatures which could appear seemingly from nowhere. Their long poison fangs could pierce armor. And they were more plentiful in the forest than the desert, not to mention more temperamental.

But Jac had another concern, one which he could neither properly express nor entirely account for. Of the many dead clones he had found during a month-long period working with the Na'tave military, there was one he had never been able to locate. It was possible that he'd simply been unable to find the body. But he doubted it.

Sergeant Flame, then known as Grampa Joe, had been commander of the outpost at the time Jac had served there. Though Jac didn't know it, most of the clones who'd come out of the rogue attack alive stated that "the real leader was Jac. Grampa Joe was too drunk to be worth much". Jac didn't happen to remember it that way, though Grampa Joe's being a cynic and a drunk were both quite true.

Jac had not reported what he felt to be true in main because there was no evidence to support it. But also, he had great respect for Grampa Joe. He had been disappointed in the war weary sergeant for deserting, not because the act itself seemed so heinous, but because Grampa Joe's experience based knowledge was an advantage now lost to the clones. Jac had now and then wondered how many dead might yet be alive had men like Grampa Joe just set aside their own feelings and realized that there was more at stake than their own contentment and happiness.

He thought of deserters not as criminals but, to use Grampa Joe's preferred vernacular "selfish and irresponsible bastards". In this, as in many things, he was different from most clones. Most merely thought of deserters as cowardly and treacherous. It's hard to say which was the lower opinion.

Normally, deserters simply disappeared. If they were ever located (and subsequently shot), it was usually on farms at the outer fringes of society. Deserters, Jac had noticed, seldom caused anybody any trouble after they got out. Not because they were scared (though that might be part of it), but because they had no desire to participate in any more violence. That was, in short, why they deserted in the first place; they were quite simply tired of watching others die around them for a war they didn't believe in.

There might have been a handful of honest-to-goodness cowards, who ran out because they were afraid for their own lives, but Jac hadn't heard any accounts of that nature which had any substance.

In other words, deserters were nothing to worry about. Most got away with it because they weren't worth the effort of looking for. However, when one ran across a deserter, one's own life might well be in peril. Knowing that they would be shot if they were found tended to make deserter's especially aggressive towards their clone brothers.

But Jac wasn't worried about happening across Grampa Joe and other potential deserters. That wasn't his concern. He was far more worried that Grampa Joe would find _him_. He couldn't explain, even to himself, why that was a worry. What could a lone, or even a few, deserters do against a fully armed and combat ready squadron?. And why would they seek out conflict they had sought to avoid?.

Jac didn't know, but he'd learned not to discount his gut reactions, no matter how absurd they seemed.

* * *

"Any more bright ideas?," Bristler was starting to get on Jac's nerves.

Mainly because he had a point. They'd gone from one place to another, on the vague hope that they would somehow stumble across a Separatist facility. The mine had been completely caved in. All that was left was a big ugly hole in the ground.

Jac realized that his little squad (seven, including himself) was going to have to settle in for the long haul. With help from the Baivd, they had practically stumbled into the other facility. But they would have no help here. They hadn't seen a single Na'tave since they arrived. In fact, they hadn't seen much of anything living. Even the trees and brush at the perimeter of the mine seemed sort of lifeless. The dirt around them had been contaminated by the mining operation and they were in the process of dying.

_We did this,_ Jac thought, _not the Separatists. Us._

But he had been a soldier for too long, had served the Republic too well, to spend any great deal of time mourning dead trees. More than that, he was concerned with what still was, rather than what had been. His brothers were still alive, fighting and dying, killed by a terrible poison, each spreading the painful death to any who happened upon him. They were alive, they could be saved. These trees could not, so there was no percentage in wasting thought or feeling on them.

"We'll camp here for the night," Jac said "and keep looking tomorrow."

The words were demoralizing, though not intentionally. They'd been set on a mission, and it seemed like they were giving up in failure. Normally, a planet-wide scan could more or less pinpoint a structure. But not here. Here everything was trial and error.

The clones didn't grumble or argue with Jac, but he could see that morale was definitely low. It had been low since they'd lost control of the outpost on the planet of the Baivd. Even the new guys could feel it, and were rapidly falling into melancholy being surrounded by clones who were poor in spirit.

Roy D was the new medic, and he suffered specially as the other clones avoided talking to him or even looking at him. Though they'd given Gunshy grief whenever possible, they'd liked him. They had trusted him to help them when they were hurt. They had respected his medical authority. They wanted nothing to do with the new guy.

Roy D came from a squad which had been mostly destroyed, the survivors disbanded and reassigned. Originally known as Roy, there had already been another sporting that monicker in the first squad he served with. The letter D had been added, though he'd never managed to find out what it was supposed to stand for. Nobody would tell him.

On joining Lucky Squad, Roy D was squashed into Royd. Nobody on Lucky Squad was called Roy, so the D at the tail end didn't make any sense to them. Royd took the shortened version of his name in stride. In fact, he kind of liked it. What were the chances that there was another Royd out there?.

Royd was laid-back and deceptively sleepy-eyed. He was actually quite sharp beneath the illusion of drowsiness, and could move like lightning when he wanted to. But, most times, he had a lethargic way of puttering through life, and some particularly thoughtless clones had decided he was lazy.

Jac had seen lazy. He had also seen clever. Royd was smart, but he didn't like drawing attention to that. Whether it was actual modesty or simply an aversion to unsolicited attention, Jac didn't know.

The other new guy was a shiny rookie named Akida. Akida was quiet, kept to himself, but his eyes were always alert, taking in everything around him piece by piece, and filing it away for later use. Jac knew it would be some time before he saw whether Akida would be beneficial or detrimental to the squad. It was always hard to tell with rookies. They were usually trying too hard, projecting some kind of illusion about themselves to make the veterans think they were worth their salt.

Jac did notice that Akida bedded down slightly away from the others, and close to the walker.

Jac had first watch. Red joined him instead of bedding down. It didn't come as a surprise. Something had been bothering the corporal since the incident with Rtj-lyr, if not before.

"What's the point?," Red asked after a long period of silence.

"Of what?."

"All of this," Red said "What are we even doing out here?."

"Following our orders," Jac replied matter-of-factly.

"No, I don't mean right now, this second. I know what we're doing right now. But what... are we?. All our lives, we're told that we're clones, designed for war. Whose war?. The Republic's war. We have to be completely loyal to the Republic. But... how can you be loyal to something you've never seen?."

Jac breathed in sharply, and didn't answer for awhile. Red could be shot, or worse, for saying such things aloud. It spoke volumes about his trust in Jac. Trust not only that Jac wouldn't kill him outright, but that Jac would also have some kind of answer to the question.

He'd seen a little of the Republic. He'd met several senators one way and another, and been present during many political discussions between world leaders. He'd even seen some of Coruscant, the center of the galaxy. And all of those experiences pointed to one answer: the Republic did not deserve their loyalty, or even their respect.

The senate was mostly composed of whiny children (figuratively speaking) who threw a tantrum every time something didn't go the way they wanted. Their so-called debates were mostly about who could use the biggest words and subtlest bullying tactics. The military was full of cruel, incompetent and unreasonable know-it-alls who also threw tantrums when things went askew. Even the Jedi Order was deeply, perhaps even fatally, flawed.

The real question was how you could be loyal to the Republic after having seen it.

"You remember Sergeant Spader?," Jac asked.

"You know that I do," Red replied, not sure what this question had to do with his own.

"You respected him, right?. Trusted him?."

"Sure, but what's that got to do with-"

"Well hold onto that. The Republic isn't real. It isn't alive. It doesn't exist. It doesn't even mean anything. So you can't be loyal to it. It's just a name, whose cause changes depending on who's running it. You can't be loyal to that. You can't respect that. But you can respect people."

"So what's that supposed to mean?."

"If you respect people, you'll try to figure out why that is. What is it that they've got that's worth standing in awe of?. Don't just respect them because somebody told you to. Loyalty is earned, not given because you have some title. Figure out who's earned your loyalty and stick by them, by what they believe. Who knows, maybe you'll find something to believe is right all on your own."

Red was clearly uncomfortable with that answer. He'd wanted something to put his mind to rest, to restore the faith that he was doing right by serving the Republic. But Jac hadn't done that for him. In fact, he'd done almost the opposite. Of all the people Red had worked with, there was not one whom he respected and trusted more than Jac. Not that he was ready to admit that out loud.

"So... what do you believe in?," Red asked finally, almost warily.

"Lots of things," Jac replied "this rifle, for instance. I believe it exists."

"Jac...," Red nudged his shoulder irritably "I'm serious."

Jac sobered up, his eyes seemed to get darker and it took him a bit to answer.

"I'm not sure. I mean, I know what I believe... but I don't have the words for it. I just... know it when I see it, that's all," he shrugged dismissively.

"Like when you refused to kill the Baivd," Red prompted.

"Yeah, like that."

Jac wished he had a good answer for Red. He wished he could say something like "I believe life is sacred" or "I believe in peace" or "love and happiness". But it wasn't true.

Death didn't bother him, not really. He mourned those dead, and did what he could to avoid joining them, but he knew that it would come for him someday. He had no illusions. He would die, that was an inescapable fact. And, truth be known, that thought didn't bother him. Death might be the end, then again maybe it wasn't. That didn't concern him. He knew that death was neither good nor evil, not something to be feared or embraced. Merely accepted in its time, just as life itself.

As a creature of war, maybe he couldn't even understand peace. He tended to think that there would always be a time of war, as well as a time of peace. That both would exist forever, no matter what anybody wanted. Sometimes peace would be called war, or war would be called peace. But they would both continue. They were not alive, therefor they could not be killed. They were neither good nor evil, it was the people surrounding them that made them. Just like the Republic itself.

"I guess... I believe in this," Jac said "right here, right now. Everything else... I don't know."

"So how do you get to what's right or wrong from there?," Red asked "what's worth dying for and what's not?."

"I don't know. I guess everybody has to figure that out for themselves."

Neither Jac nor Red slept that night. They were too busy thinking, that thing which they had been both encouraged to do and discouraged from. Thinking... thinking was dangerous, but necessary.


	20. Fallen Idols 2

The day began, as days often seemed to do, with a problem. The vehicles had gotten stuffed full of sand in the desert portion of the planet, and the damp night in the rain forest had turned the sand to thick mud. The machines were rebelling against this unwonted abuse by malfunctioning.

"Great. Now not only do we not know where we're going, it'll take us a year just to get there. Wonderful," as usual, Jac took little notice of Bristler's unending grumbling.

He was busy looking at the complex innards of the vehicle, wishing he could remember more of his education in mechanics. It was a subject which had suited him ill, and it had been a long time since he'd been required to try and repair something. A squad was supposed to have a mechanic, right?. But not Lucky Squad. No, even when it was first formed, it hadn't had one of those. Just a medic and a sniper. Now they didn't even have a sniper.

"Tell me I'm not the only one looking at a jumble of wires," Red said quietly to Jac.

"Oh no, it's a jumble of wires alright. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing," Jac returned "but don't let that get around, okay?."

Clones aren't much for rubbernecking. Seeing as they could be of no immediate use, most of the clones either went back to sleep or checked the equipment they'd checked the night before, right before bedding down. All except Akida, who crouched uncomfortably close by. He watched Jac's every move with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.

Jac tried to ignore him. But he wished Akida would go away, find something else to do. Frankly, his fumbling attempts at repairing the machinery were embarrassing. He was a sergeant, he should know how to fix these things. Did know... somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Can I help?," Akida asked after Jac nearly electrocuted himself with an exposed wire.

"How?," Red wanted to know.

He'd been handing Jac tools and holding his breath every time it looked like Jac might blow himself up. Jac was good at a great many things, but this was clearly not one of those things.

"Well, first of all, that wire goes into this bit over here," he pointed "the problem is this is all clogged up with sand and junk. You need to clear it out before plugging anything into it."

"You want to do this?," Jac asked hopefully.

"Can I?," Akida seemed to almost tremble with barely contained eagerness.

"Have at it," Jac stepped back, and relinquished his tools.

Akida practically pounced on the motor. He didn't mess around either, setting at once to work like an old pro while Red and Jac looked on.

"They wouldn't let me touch this stuff in training," Akida said, mostly absorbed in his work "they said there were already too many mechanics in the field. And, well... I couldn't focus on anything but machines, given the option. So they didn't. Give me the option, that is."

"Their loss," Red commented mildly.

Too many mechanics. Was that supposed to be some kind of a joke?. What harm could their possibly be in allowing a clone to develop his talents as a mechanic in addition to being a soldier?.

"This is gonna take awhile," Akida went on "these babies are pretty gummed up."

He opened a valve and a rush of oily sand poured out and puddled on the ground.

"That's not good," Akida seemed to say this to himself, having forgotten Jac and Red.

They left him to it. Tag took over as assistant.

"That's weird," Red said "those machines were working fine last night. Not a cough or splutter among them. Now not one will so much as start."

"More than that," Jac agreed "there are exposed wires in there. No way that happened in one day and I checked the equipment before we left. I may not know how to fix it, but I do know good condition when I see it. There's something not right here."

"Think we've got company?," Red asked.

"I've been thinking that since we hit jungle," Jac replied "take someone with you and try to scout around. If you find a hostile, do your best to keep them from seeing you. Don't engage if you can avoid it,"

"How would they get by us?," Red wanted to know.

Jac said nothing. He knew it wouldn't be too difficult for someone who knew the habits of clone troops to slip past them in the dark.

"You know something I don't?," Red persisted.

"There's a hole with no bottom," Jac's reply was met by a shove from Red.

In truth, Jac was probably the only clone in the army who could get away with saying things like that to Red. And he was definitely the only one who wouldn't at least offend Red. Red had discovered some time ago the lengths Jac would go to in order to protect his men, the effort he would put in to not only teaching them everything he knew, but encouraging them to learn on their own and in their own ways. He knew Jac didn't mean anything by the comment, and that Jac had said it in a low enough voice that nobody else would hear.

"Whatever you do," Jac added "don't mess with the flying snakes."

Red took Bristler with him, a choice which Jac appreciated. Bristler was becoming more difficult to get along with by the minute, so maybe giving him something to do would help. It impressed Jac that Red put aside his own feelings in favor of making the operation run more smoothly. It was no secret that he and Bristler actively despised each other. Jac cast a glance at the only two clones with nothing to do.

Luey was busying himself with his equipment and trying not to look nervous. His first time out in the field had gone quite badly, and he'd never been quite comfortable after that. Of the squad, Luey also had the most experience with Jac and Red. He'd learned to recognize when they were trying to look nonchalant and when they were actually at ease. He knew, even without being told, that something was up.

Royd, on the other hand, was oblivious. Or pretending to be. Having slept the night before and checked his equipment once this morning, Royd had taken up doing something... rather strange. He was sitting on the fringes of the camp, tapping a stick against a large boulder. Jac couldn't figure out what Royd was doing. He wasn't practicing code, yet there was pattern to the action and resulting sound. Jac couldn't begin to guess at why someone would hit a stick against a rock. But before he could ask what Royd was doing, the sound of blaster fire cut through the air. Luey and Royd were at once on their feet, rifles raised and aimed towards the source of the sound.

"Bristler," Jac swore under his breath.

More blaster fire sounded, and Jac could faintly see flashes of red through the underbrush. He listened closely, and a chill rippled down his spine. Those were clone blasters alright, but there were more than two in play here. He tried to count, but couldn't. More than two though, that was for sure.

"Joe," he growled, which earned him odd looks from Luey and Royd.

Tag and Akida had looked up from their tinkering, wondering if they should keep working or join the others in forming a line of defense.

"Forget the walker. We've got bigger problems," Jac said.

He arranged his men close around the walker, knowing its bulk would provide protection from anyone coming up behind them. He'd chosen this spot particularly because of a number of large boulders around the campsite, which would now provide cover from the front.

"Hold your fire," Jac commanded "until I tell you otherwise."

He didn't know if his orders would be obeyed, especially by the two newest additions. After all, he'd just told them not to fight. That went against every instinct and every bit of training they had. Aside from which, if he was right, they were about to be faced with the one thing they despised more than droids.

Bristler erupted backwards out of the underbrush. It was probably only Jac's orders that prevented the tense clones from firing before they recognized their comrade. Bristler kept on backing until he could see the others in his peripheral vision.

"Get down, Bristler," Jac hissed "and check your rifle fire. There's nothing to shoot at."

"Says you," Bristler growled, but obeyed.

"You were supposed to avoid trouble, not bring it here."

"Like this is my fault?!," but Bristler's comment was drowned out by persistent blaster fire.

"Where's Red?," Jac demanded.

"How should I know?. First shot came outta nowhere. We got separated trying to take cover," Bristler replied angrily "I'm telling you: I didn't start this!."

Jac ignored him. He'd believe Bristler when Red confirmed his story. Jac had known Bristler for too long to take him at his word in this context. Bristler's penchant for causing trouble extended all the way back to when he and Jac had first met, here on Aakaria. And probably even farther than that, but that was pure speculation on Jac's part.

"Those weren't clankers shooting at us," Bristler persisted, adding in a lower voice "or Na'taves."

"I know," Jac replied coolly.

A shot came from the brush, bouncing off the rock near Jac's head. He ducked lower.

"Sniper?," Bristler guessed.

"He wishes," Jac said "if he were a sniper, he would've hit me."

"He would have hit you if he'd been trying," came a voice from the forest.

All clones have the same voice, but there is a unique quality and tone to each which makes him instantly identifiable from all others to those who know him. Jac knew that voice. So did Bristler.

"Joe," Bristler snarled, loud enough to be heard across the clearing "I thought you bought it last time we were here. I thought you'd died like a soldier, not slunk away like a coward."

Grampa Joe, Flame, didn't rise to the bait. Someone else did, because a shot pinged off the rocks near Bristler's position. There was some rustling in the brush. Jac suspected Grampa Joe was telling off whichever hot-head had fired the shot without permission.

"We're friends, Jac. You know that. Why hide from me?."

"The report I heard is that you shot at two of my men. I don't like it when people shoot at me and mine. _You_ know _that_," Jac returned, voice only partially betraying the depth of his anger.

There was a moment of silence. Jac knew he'd made a mistake, but he wasn't yet sure what it had been.

"I also know Bristler. If we'd shown ourselves, you know he'd have started shooting," Joe said reasonably "be glad he's still alive."

"Why you-," Bristler started, but Jac put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Bristler settled down, but was fuming. Jac didn't care. Bristler was almost always fuming. Besides, what Grampa Joe said was uncomfortably true. Bristler shot first and questioned later. Jac wondered if he'd ever accidentally shot guys on his own side. Jac had heard of that happening with other clones of Bristler's caliber.

"I want to talk to you, Jac. And I'm sure you want to hear what I have to say. I remember you love to know. Get all the information you can, and then act. I'm offering information, Jac."

"Sarge...," Bristler growled uneasily.

"Stow it," Jac replied shortly "you stay here, stay down. And do not shoot. Not unless I tell you to. Understood?."

Bristler just growled inarticulately. But that was enough for Jac. Bristler hated nothing so much as holding his fire. But he would do as ordered, Jac could hear it in his voice.

Jac stood up, holding his rifle still, but keeping the muzzle aimed at the ground.

"So talk," Jac said in a neutral voice, stepping forward from the shelter of the boulders "explain to me why you deserted us when the rogues attacked. Tell me why you've wrecked our transport, shot at us. And tell me why you fear to let me see you. Explain these things. I am ready to listen."

"I do not fear you," Grampa Joe's voice was gruff.

He appeared from behind a tree trunk. Instinctively, Jac turned a staying hand towards his men. This was a deserter, something they hated more than anything. Unlike the droids, which were alien to them, deserters represented a part of themselves which they refused to admit existed. A small piece of them that wondered what the point of all this fighting was, and if there wasn't something better out there. People hate reflections of themselves more than anything in the world.

"It's your trigger happy pups I'm concerned with."

"They do their jobs," Jac replied dryly.

"Then there's the part you didn't say. You don't trust my people anymore than I trust yours. If you did, you wouldn't bother holding to that rifle. Not that it'll do you any good, you cannot hit what you cannot see."

"I hold the rifle because that's my job. A soldier doesn't give up his rifle for just anybody."

"You mean he doesn't give it to the enemy. Stop choosing your words, Jac. I can see right through you."

"You know how I hate politics. I'm saying just what I mean to."

"It doesn't have to be this way, Jac," Joe said smoothly "you and I, we don't have to be enemies. You don't understand the Republic's war anymore than I do. You can't, because it doesn't make sense."

"I'll not argue that," Jac replied, voice cold and hard.

"You know I'm right, Jac. Brothers fighting and dying right and left, you know this doesn't make any kind of sense. Our kind is being used, slaughtered, for the personal gain of a corrupt regime which is long past its expiration date."

Again Jac made no argument, this time by remaining silent but slightly inclining his head, encouraging Joe to go on. When he'd met Grampa Joe, the sergeant had been drunk out of his mind most of the time. Never had he been so eloquent in speech. Yet, thus far, he had not told Jac anything he didn't already know. Nothing he had not already thought about. He had to know that. Flame was no fool.

"So why fight for them-," Flame asked, his words flowing like honey in spite of his granite-like voice.

Jac didn't bat an eye. But he had in no way expected the words which came next.

"-when you can fight against them?."

Flame's eyes glittered as he spoke, and Jac took an involuntary step backwards. It wasn't so much horror as revulsion that made him do so. It wasn't right, but what repelled him the most was knowing that he'd thought of it before. He was capable of thinking that way. And that disgusted him. He didn't let his expression change, but Flame must have seen something in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought of it. You, who think everything through so carefully, considering all possibilities down to the last detail. Don't tell me you haven't even considered-"

"Enough," Jac's voice was level and hard "I've heard enough."

"So you do understand?."

"I understand only that you argue that our brothers are fighting and dying without reason in one breath, and saying we should kill themselves with our own hands in the next," Jac spat, unable to fully contain his sudden, toxic contempt.

"I'm giving you the chance to make a real difference, to-" Jac cut him off again.

"I respect you. You have the brains and the gall to accomplish things other clones can only ever dream of. You've saved my life more than once, and you don't even know it. I heard your stories, and learned from them. The things I learned from you have saved my life, as well as others."

"So why not join me now?."

"Because I know that this is wrong. But what you suggest is far more wrong."

"I'm willing to give all brothers the same chance I now offer you," Flame protested.

"And they will spit in your face and try to kill you, because that is all they know. It is who and what they are. You know as well as I that clones were meant to serve the Republic."

"The _Republic_," Flame spat the word like rotten food "who sends us all to die. Why be loyal to such a beast as would build people just to destroy them?. Not droids. _People_."

"The Republic is flawed, yes. Perhaps fatally. But there are those within it who I have faith in. I believe in the future. Their future. It is they who matter. Not the Republic. Not the Separatists. Not the senate and certainly not the clone army."

"If we do not matter, then who does?. The Jedi?. They're as bad as all the rest."

"Why do you view them as a whole, brother?. We are clones, genetically identical. Yet clearly I am not like you, or Bristler or anyone else. If this is so, then how could the Jedi possibly be viewed as a single entity?. They are not clones. They come from different worlds, from different cultures. Why would they have a council if they were all of a single mind?."

"Then you will not stand with me?."

"I cannot."

"Then you must die."

Jac sensed more than heard the clones in the surrounding forest move in response to their leader's words. He didn't look away from the black-clad figure, the sergeant whom he had once served under. The man he'd known was a raging drunk; this one was just raging.

But there was the closer sound of a weapon being hastily drawn and leveled.

"You'll be dead before he hits the ground."

Jac didn't know where Red had come from. He hadn't even seen the other clone arrive. But there he stood, directly behind Flame, the muzzle of his gun resting its end against the back of Flame's head.

"My men will fill you so full of holes you'd make a good strainer," Flame countered.

"But you will be dead. And that's all I care about."

"Bastard," Flame grunted, but there was a look in his eyes approaching delight.

He had always liked good soldiers even in spite of himself.

"We didn't come here for you," Jac said evenly "we're not interested in deserters. We don't care how you live, or what you do. So long as it does not interfere with what we came to accomplish. Get out of our way, and we'll gladly stay out of yours. We are not your enemy, any more than you are ours. Not unless you make it so."

A look of uncertainty crossed Flame's face.

"We came here looking for a Separatist facility. They're manufacturing a poison. It's killing our brothers by the hundreds. You have no love for the Republic, but do you really want to play a part in murdering thousands of your own kind?. I don't believe that."

Jac could see the look in Flame's eyes changing. Though he had moments before been talking about fighting against the Republic and, in turn, the clones, he was disgusted by the idea of poisoning them. A fair shootout was one thing, though Jac suspected Flame had overestimated how convincing his argument was and believed clones would turn deserter rather than fight, but this was quite a different matter. Flame had always been harsh, but never cruel.

As Jac explained the traits of the toxin, he saw Flame's face turn slightly gray, then red, going from disgust to unbridled fury. He had no love for the Republic, but he despised the Separatists. Perhaps that was programming, just like loyalty to the Republic was supposed to be. But Jac didn't believe that. The Republic was no symbol of holiness, but there were levels to which even it would not stoop.

Throughout, Red had stood unmoving, his threat remaining in effect. He didn't put much faith in talk, and didn't really believe Jac could win Flame over. But he'd never met Grampa Joe. Jac had.

"I can't promise we'll leave after we're done. But I can promise that none of my men will mention seeing you, or any of yours."

"How can you promise such things?," Flame growled "you know regulations. They will report any deserters to the first figurehead they can find."

"Not _my_ men," Jac snarled back "they will keep their silence because that is what I will tell them to do. And because they're smart enough to know it's right that they hold their tongues."

"Right?. What do they know of right?. What do you, for that matter?."

"Probably very little. But I can only go on the information I have. I'm a soldier, not a Jedi. I can't sense things. I can only act on what I know. And, right now, I know men are dying, and I can do something to put a stop to it, at least in its present form."

Flame was silent for a long, dangerous moment. Then a smile spread across his face. He shook his head and laughed deeply.

"Ah, Jac. You haven't changed at all."

"Not true," Jac returned "I'm a sergeant now."

"So you are. So you are," Flame nodded "still, I'll help you find your clanker base. That's as far as I'm willing to go. And I want you to do something for me."

"Oh?."

"Let me speak with your men. Some may see things differently than you do."

"They all have the same choice I do, that all clones do. You can't tell them anything they don't already know. However... you may try, if you want to waste your breath."

"You know me, Jac. I'm a blowhard. I waste my breath for a living. Oh, one other thing: will you get your damn corporal to take his gun off the back of my head?. He's giving me a migraine."

Jac nodded and Red withdrew his weapon, thinly veiled fury in his eyes.

"We've noticed some clankers around the dark side of the planet. Nitro's my best scout. He says they mostly hang around entrances to what look like caves. Almost like they're guarding the door to their nest," Flame paused as a dark look crossed Jac's face "you were one of Rtj-lyr's bunch, weren't you?."

"Yeah," Jac nodded, almost choking on the single word.

"Bad business that. I guess you must not like the dark much. Need someone to hold your hand?."

"No," Jac shook his head "you get us there, we'll do the rest. A little blackness never hurt anybody."

He noticed that Red was looking at him strangely. Red probably hadn't heard the full story on Rtj-lyr. But he did know about Jac's time in the Madhouse. Darkness, closed in spaces... Jac shook off the beginnings of a shudder.

He hated his fear. He knew that places couldn't do anything to you. Walls and floor, light and dark, none of it was alive, none of it meant or did anything. Only things you should worry about are the creatures that might be in the dark. He remembered the giant arachnids of Aakaria's caves. But he wasn't afraid of those, though he felt that he ought to be.


	21. Fallen Idols 3

The traveling clones looked quite a sight. The Republic troops with their starkly white armor, Flame's band in varying shades of brown, black and even green, each side eying the other with open suspicion out of identical dark eyes. Nitro, dressed in dark green camo, was in the lead, closely followed by Jac and Flame. The two of them were alone in their comfort. Neither was concerned much with the other. They had settled things back at the walker, which had been left behind in favor of checking out the droid base. Neither considered the other to be a threat. Either that or they were exceptional at pretending to be completely at ease.

Red hadn't taken his eyes off Flame once. He didn't trust Flame. And he didn't like how the former sergeant seemed to look down on Jac, regarding him as an adult might gaze upon a simple child. Nor did he like following this deserter into who knew what kind of danger. Red didn't like any of this. And he especially didn't like the uneasy look Jac hadn't quite managed to hide. There was something about the caves which had Jac on edge, and that made Red tense.

The forest didn't so much thin out as end abruptly. The clones found themselves standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. Cold wind lashed at them, whipping icy rain into a frenzy around them. Jac remembered this place all too well. Perhaps not this spot exactly, but one much like it.

Nitro didn't hesitate for a moment, turning sharply to the left and expertly beginning to pick his way down a narrow trail which was almost invisible from above. The trail was actually just natural formation of the cliff face, little more than a sliver of rock winding its way down into the valley.

"After you," Flame said.

Jac followed Nitro. He wasn't quite so sure-footed as the clone ahead of him, but Nitro had doubtless had more practice. He looked like he could climb this trail blindfolded, picking his way swiftly and surely. He looked back a little less than halfway down and realized the others were falling behind. He slowed down, but not much.

Jac had never seen Nitro before, which vaguely surprised him. He'd assumed Flame's clones were all soldiers leftover from the Aakaria campaign, but it looked like some had made their way here from other places. Nitro was very young, he didn't even look old enough to have finished his training. Jac wondered at that, but didn't have the breath to ask. It wasn't important anyway.

Nitro made it to the bottom, where he proceeded to fidget impatiently. Jac jumped the last few feet, tired of Nitro's annoyed look. He landed next to the younger clone and fixed him with an irritated stare. Soldier or not, such open impatience was uncalled for. Not everything ran on the timetable you wanted it to, and there was quite a string of clones trying to make their way down the slippery rocks without falling or running into each other. Slow caution was called for.

Nitro stared back defiantly at first, but eventually withered under Jac's silent glare. Nitro was a firecracker, alright, spoiling for a fight, but he knew when to back off. Jac was not his commander, but he could still probably pin Nitro in five seconds flat. Less, if he really wanted to.

"You'd better show some respect," Flame said, reaching the bottom of the trail and directing his comment to Nitro "Jac here is the probably the smartest soldier you'll meet in your lifetime."

Nitro's gaze flickered to Jac briefly, curiosity lining his features. Flame was against the Republic, and its army, so why hold this representative of that government in such high regard?. Jac pretended not to have heard the comment, or to notice Nitro's expression.

"Where do we go from here?," he asked.

"That way," Nitro answered, nodding to the Northwest "not too far now."

"We should be quiet from here on out," Flame commented.

Jac nodded. When the other clones reached the bottom, each told his men that they were to keep the noise down to nothing. They were in enemy territory now. The two groups exchanged distrustful glances, as though each expected the other to intentionally make a racket and give away their position.

Red eased his way to Jac's side and conveyed all of his concerns with a single unhappy look. Jac responded in kind, his eyes alone serving to remind Red of what was at stake. They didn't have to like this, but deserters were not their biggest issue right now. Nobody here was stupid enough to start a fight between clones when there were giant spider creatures and droids to worry about.

* * *

Flame's band had traveled with them until the caves were in sight. Then they had melted away like shadows. Jac knew they would be back. Flame would want to collect on Jac's promise. He wanted to convert more clones to his cause. Whatever that was.

While it was certainly tempting to rebel against the Republic who treated them so poorly, Jac could see no point in it if he wasn't also fighting _for_ something. Far as he was concerned, you couldn't fight to get rid of something, you had to fight for the introduction or continuation of something. Bad things don't just evaporate, they have to be replaced with something else. If that doesn't happen, they'll come right back, most likely in a worse form than before.

Using hand signals, Jac indicated that he wanted Red to come with him, and the rest to remain behind and keep a sharp lookout. With just a handful of clones, he wasn't up for a full scale assault. This was recon, plain and simple.

Red hesitated a moment, and Jac knew he was questioning the wisdom of leaving rookies (and Bristler) untended. Jac waited for him to work out for himself that the real danger lay inside the caves. The absolute worst place for any of the others to be was inside. Luey and Tag could probably keep things in order, especially given Jac's instructions were clear.

The two clones crept across the open ground to the cave entrance as quickly as possible, running low. The others watched tensely as they disappeared into the mouth of the cave. Then they settled in to wait.

Jac and Red were plunged into darkness on entering the cave, and both employed their night vision. Jac couldn't suppress a shudder. He hated this place, and every memory it represented. Jac wasn't used to returning to places of sorrow or agony. You got through and went on, never looking back.

But now it returned in a flood. The darkness, the isolation, the hunger... the brutal shattering of the great trust he had once placed in all Jedi. Everything. The point of origin, or turning point. When his perception of reality had been irreversibly altered. Jedi had been as Gods to him, but that had ended with the arbitrary cruelty and violence which had taken place here.

He tried to shake it off and took the lead through the tunnels. He remembered scouting tunnels just like these with another clone. His name had been Pariah. He had eventually turned on Rtj-lyr, only to be shot by a clone captain who was, in turn, mistakenly shot by others of his own kind.

With these memories came the painful reminder of Rtj-lyr's return. He had murdered so many, just to get at Jac. It was something Jac could never understand. The thing he understood least was why Gunshy had to die. Gunshy had never done anything to Rtj-lyr, or to anyone. He carried no weapon, he was a medic, a healer. And now he was dead. Not by the hands of the Separatists, but from a former member of the Jedi Order.

No wonder Sergeant Flame had turned to drinking.

The twisting tunnels wound about seemingly randomly, but Jac had learned to recognize their patterns. These were not natural caves and tunnels, they were dug by the massive Mityars, giant arachnids who lived underground. Jac hoped they wouldn't run into any of the creatures.

They'd been in the tunnels for about fifteen minutes when Jac halted so suddenly Red almost ran into him. Realizing the sergeant was listening, Red held still and listened too. There were sounds up ahead, of machinery in action, working on something. There was also a loud hissing, whose cause Red couldn't begin to guess at, but could see from Jac's face that he knew exactly what that sound meant.

The two clones crept around the curve of the tunnel and found themselves looking at a setup much like that which they had encountered on the Baivd planet. Except instead of pens of Sacred woolly-cows, there were small crates with long bodied, legless, googly eyed creatures coated in brilliant feathers. Red could only guess that these were the Eglamorks. Jac knew. It was from them that the persistent hissing cry came. Each in its turn lifted and threw back its head and sent out a furious wail. Before its cry had died away, another raised its own head and echoed the sound.

_They've no defense against droids, _Jac thought, _poison fangs won't do a bit of good if the thing you're attacking has no blood._

He couldn't believe that the Na'taves would knowingly let this happen. At least, not with Meisheb at their head, or at least one like her. He hadn't seen any Na'taves since they arrived. Or Eglamorks, for that matter. In fact, the forest which had been so lively when he was here last had seemed deathly still. Had the Separatists overthrown the Na'taves?. Or were the cat-like people merely in hiding, biding their time and waiting for the opportunity to strike back?.

He shook his head. Why couldn't he keep focused on the task at hand?.

"Clones!. Blast them!." the shout of a droid made Jac spin around.

"Shit," Red growled, dropping to one knee and opening fire "we've got no cover here!."

The bright flashes from the blasters rendered the night vision goggles blind. Jac pulled them off so he could see in the flickering dark. The two droids which had first spotted them went down in a hail of gunfire from Red. A splash of blood hit Jac's armor and he knew Red had been hit at least once.

Swinging to face the room again, he saw droids popping out of various tunnels and heading right for them. Clanking and shouting from the way they'd come said droids were coming from that direction too. Red growled uneasily. They were surrounded.

To the left, Jac spotted a side tunnel. He tapped Red on the shoulder and pointed. Red nodded, rose and headed for it, Jac following close behind. At the mouth of the tunnel, Jac placed an explosive charge. Red looked alarmed, but didn't hesitate when Jac indicated they should run now.

The shouts and clanking grew louder. Utter blackness enveloped the clones. Then a loud bang came from behind, followed by unsteady rumbling. The charge had exploded, and the tunnel collapsed.

Red came to a stumbling halt, breathing hard.

"Great, now we're trapped."

"This is a Mityar tunnel," Jac replied levelly "it will come out somewhere. You can bet on it."

"You just bet with our lives, Sarge," Red replied with a cough.

"How bad are you hit?," Jac asked, changing the subject.

"They got me in the shoulder. I'm okay."

Jac put his night vision back on to take a look at the injury, and patch it as best he could. The wound was in Red's shoulder, but it was bleeding profusely. Okay was not a word Jac would use to describe it.

* * *

"They've been in there too long. What the hell are they even doing?," Bristler growled in a low voice.

Tag and Luey exchanged uneasy looks. They knew Bristler's fits of impatient rage all too well. Both hoped that Jac and Red would get back before Bristler decided to do something foolhardy. By right of field experience, Bristler could claim seniority over the lot of them. Unfortunately, experience had yet to instill in him the wisdom it have bequeathed to Jac and Red.

"Dying."

All eyes turned to look at Akida, who had spoken the single word. He did not elaborate, even when Bristler demanded to know what he meant by that. Instead, he fell silent and looked towards the cave entrance, seemingly deaf and blind to those around him.

The members of Lucky Squad tried to shake off Akida's word as doom-saying rookie talk. But the quiet conviction in his voice was hard, no impossible, to ignore. It was as though he knew.

* * *

"I thought you said this tunnel would lead somewhere?," Red panted, stopping and leaning against a wall, struggling to keep his legs under him.

"It does. And it will. We've just got to keep moving," Jac replied.

"Okay. Okay, don't get your armor in a twist," Red grumbled, pushing himself upright and starting forward slowly.

"We can rest for a few minutes."

"Wouldn't help, and we both know it," Red returned gruffly.

Jac couldn't argue with that. Moving around kept the bleeding going, but to rest would only delay the inevitable. A few minutes later, Red collapsed. Without pausing to examine him, Jac picked his brother up off the floor and slung him across his shoulders.


	22. Return to Madness 1

**Part 8 – Return to Madness**

_"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts."  
-Winston Churchill  
_

* * *

The Clone woke up only with great reluctance. He had enjoyed sleeping in a bed, even if it was really more of a cot. He knew that this could be the last time he would enjoy that luxury. At least for awhile. But that was not his only reason for being shy about waking up.

His name was Jac, and he'd been promoted to lieutenant. Now, instead of a tiny squad, he had a platoon to worry about. He was one of four lieutenants assigned to the current mission. He would be serving under one Captain Spader. Jac had first met Spader when the latter was a sergeant. And the last time they'd seen each other was on the planet they were about to be dropped onto.

It was a little dust bowl world which had been assigned a series of numbers instead of a name. It had formerly been virtually unknown to the Republic, until the Separatists had used it as a torture facility for captured clone troops. It had since been abandoned.

But new intel said the place was alive again. This was where the Separatists were mixing a toxin which was lethal to clones. Jac and the others had been dispatched to put a stop to it. They were nearly there, and would be dropping later this morning, all hundred and forty of them. Intel also said this was a big operation, but not so big that a company couldn't handle it. Or, anyway, that was the hope.

A lot of hope was going into this.

Jac had traipsed all over the galaxy trying to put a stop to production of the poisonous weapon, and had been met with failure time and again. He'd nearly lost one of his men in the caves of Aakaria. Red had recovered nicely, and had been promoted to sergeant for his trouble.

Red now ran Lucky Squad, which was smaller than ever since Jac had been promoted. In addition to Jac's promotion, one member of Lucky Squad had stayed behind on Aakaria.

Luey, who had always preferred farming to fighting had deserted. He'd joined up with a band of deserters on the planet, who were lead by Jac's former sergeant, Flame. Flame had at first wanted to go to war with the Republic itself, but Jac had talked him out of it, saying that it would accomplish nothing if he didn't have any purpose other than just hating the Republic.

All it would do was cause more clones to die needlessly. Jac had also impressed upon the former sergeant that a number of brothers were likely dead now because men like Flame up and left, taking their wisdom and experience with them. Flame had still been thinking that over when the clones left.

Then there was Akida, who had been swiped from Obi-Wan Kenobi's troops by Anakin Skywalker, who seemed to see a certain potential in the young clone.

Red was down to a mere handful of men. Tag, Bristler and Royd. He was "borrowing" a few guys from other squads for the current mission. Burnout, Turnpike and Gusey.

Jac rolled out of bed with a groan he tried his best to stifle and hit the floor with a soft whump. He noticed that he was not alone in that. All of the clones who had been to this planet before exhibited the same symptoms, while the oblivious rookies shuffled about hurriedly, eager for action. Red and Jac exchanged looks from across the room, then both glanced towards the door where Captain Spader was standing, watching the youngsters of the company scamper about, a look of weariness on his face.

Several clones brushed past Jac, still clumsy with sleep. Not one apologized, and it was doubtful that they even realized they'd run in to a lieutenant.

* * *

The landing zone had been hot. They were down to two walkers and ninety seven clones. But they were down. The familiar landscape brought vivid memories to life in Jac's mind. Glancing at Red and Spader, he could tell it had done the same to them. They both kept looking at him, as though they wondered if he was okay. He'd suffered more than any of them in this hell hole.

But he was fine right now. This was the planet surface. The real nightmare lay underground. Intel said the Separatist facility generating the toxin was in the same spot as the Madhouse. That it _was_ the Madhouse. For Jac, there was a sense of finality to be going back there after all this time.

He didn't know why that was, but it didn't rattle him. He'd learned that when and how you go isn't really what matters. It's what you did before you got there. What you learned, and what you taught, who you were and how you lived. Those were the things that mattered. He didn't know if he'd lived well or right, but he couldn't think of anything worth regretting at this point in his life.

Lucky Squad took point with one of the walkers, with Red driving, heading unerringly towards the Madhouse. If he had any reservations about the op, he kept them to himself.

Jac looked around. Ninety seven seemed like a lot in a march like this, but he knew that was a mere illusion. They had little margin for error. They simply didn't have enough men to afford any mistakes.

_Better get your head on straight, Jac._

He tried to figure out if he was unfocused in some way, or uneasy about returning to the Madhouse. But he didn't even feel a tingle of apprehension. In fact, just the opposite was true. An inexplicable eagerness surged through him like a tidal wave, flooding his mind and senses. The only thing he could think of was the deadly toxin being manufactured here, and that he was finally going to put a stop to it.

That's what mattered. It was all that mattered.

As they drew nearer, Spader signaled for the lieutenants to walk with him. Jac roused himself from his thoughts and jogged diagonally through the marching clones to get to Spader. They were short one lieutenant since the firefight, but they were also short a little more than a platoon all told. Before setting out, Spader had filled out the short ranks, temporarily patching together whole squads from the ragged remains of those which had been mostly cut down.

It made for a few awkward match-ups. A few of sergeants were clashing because they had been put in the same squad, with the senior one in charge. They didn't like it one bit. It was SOP, but that didn't make any of them any happier.

In addition to Jac, there were two other lieutenants, Tyler and Brash. Brash must have gotten his name early on in his career and picked up considerable wisdom along the way. There was none of the temper or impatience his monicker implied. Both Tyler and Brash were tight lipped while Spader gave them their instructions, mostly nodding silently. They'd heard of the Madhouse, and there were rumors about what had taken place there. They seemed more worried than Jac about going there.

Both looked extremely startled when Spader turned to Jac suddenly.

"Who do you like best for the frontal assault on the building?."

To Jac, it was a perfectly reasonable question. He knew this place, was familiar with many of the men (if only by reputation), and had more experience than Tyler and Brash combined. They had never met him, however, and probably thought of him as a young whelp promoted before his time.

"Lucky Squad," Jac replied without hesitation "Red's a good tactician, keeps his head and won't give the clankers an inch unless you tell him to, and he's got the men to back him up. Especially Bristler. You want someone on point in a fight, that's the one to pick. He doesn't like the sidelines."

"Lucky it is, then," Spader said, then noticed the change in Tyler and Brash's silence "you gentlemen have something to add?," when they said nothing, he persisted "you have a problem with Jac's recommendation?."

The change in their demeanor was instantaneous. Both looked sharply at Jac, then at Spader.

"You're Jac?," Tyler asked finally "the Jac?."

"I guess so," Jac replied, shrugging.

"You're the guy they offered to let go?," Brash's voice betrayed his disbelief.

"I'm probably not the only one, but yeah. So?."

"That's the thing," Tyler said after a breath of silence "you _are_ the only one."

"What made you turn that down?," Brash wanted to know "you could be cozy and warm right now on some backwater planet that's never even heard of the Republic."

"It's right that I be here," Jac replied casually, as though discussing weather or current events "I have a job to do, a responsibility to the men under my command."

"But it wouldn't have been deserting," Tyler said "not if they offered to let you go."

"Things aren't right or wrong just because the senate says they are. I can't speak for any of my brothers, but I know that I belong here. I don't know why, but it matters that I be here, doing my job."

The comment struck both lieutenants as very odd. Though clones were by training utterly devoted to the Republic which they served, and believed in fighting for that Republic, they tended to think of themselves as a whole. An individual could fall, could fail, and it wouldn't matter, so long as the rest kept right on marching. But Jac had just said _I_, not _we_.

It bore thinking about. But not now. Later.

* * *

The droids had been ready for them, inasmuch as droids are prepared for anything. Predictable things that they were, they saw the frontal assault and turned to face it as one, ignoring the possibility of secondary attacks from either side. Jac led the frontal assault. To the right, Brash led men of his own, with Spader and Tyler taking charge of the troops on the other side.

It was almost immediately apparent why Jac had selected Lucky Squad to take lead. Red was highly aggressive, fearless almost to the point of recklessness. Bristler was just plain vicious, taking perverse pleasure in thoroughly demolishing all droids in his path. Tag hit low and fast, unafraid of getting his hands dirty. He liked to get in close, and often positioned himself in such a way that the droids wound up shooting each other. The rest of the squad was there to pick apart any who survived the first wave. After Lucky Squad came the others, acting as cover for the advance.

Still, they didn't start making real progress until Brash and his men swept in on one side, followed swiftly by Spader and Tyler on the other. Once the onslaught was well underway, several clones assumed defensive positions and took shots at droids on the roof. The droids took cover or got shot, either way they didn't get a chance to pick off the clones below.

Reaching the door to the building, Jac switched gears. He and Lucky Squad had a secondary objective. They didn't need to try and shoot down all the droids. They needed to get in, place explosives, and get out. Spader fell in with them, leaving Tyler and Brash to manage the overwhelmingly noisy "distraction". A squad went in before them, clearing a path. Half its number remained there, effectively "keeping the door open" for when they got back.

If they got back.

The other half went on ahead to the elevator, which would be their stopping point. Lucky Squad was going down alone. There simply weren't enough men for it to be otherwise.

Once in the elevator, Jac felt the squad's courage start to falter. Each and every one of them had heard rumors. They all knew at least part of the story. Red and Jac exchanged glances. They knew what was really down there, or what had been.

It was at this point that Jac realized this elevator was not the one he'd used so long ago. It had been replaced. Not surprisingly, the structure had to be stripped down and rebuilt after the fire. He wondered if its lower levels would still look the same. In his head rang the final words of one of the many clones who had been tortured and killed down there:

"_What hast thou done!?. Thou art cursed!. Diseased, blight!. Death shall come for thee!."_ Jac had never entirely figured out what the words meant, or who the clone had been addressing them to. Himself, Jac, the Separatists, maybe even the Republic itself... there was no telling.

Jac was the first out when the elevator doors opened. Several droids yelped in surprise and were subsequently cut down by blaster fire. Jac took the first cover available and held position while Red advanced quickly to the next cover spot. They continued down the hall in this manner, one after the other, sometimes in pairs if there was enough cover.

Jac remembered the power supply room, which had exploded the last time he was here. If it was still in the same spot, that was the best place for charges.

_And so, history repeats itself._

It took precious minutes to reach the power core, and they were keenly aware that their brothers several floors above were fighting and dying to buy them time to succeed. Not to mention those beyond the planet who were in danger of being poisoned in future if they failed. They could not fail.

Red and Tag, who had been carrying the majority of the charges, set to work the instant they hit the power room, leaving the other clones to clear out the droids and cover them. They ignored the flashing pulses of red which streaked past them, only narrowly missing, trusting their brothers to deal with the situation and keep them alive long enough to complete their task. Or, at least, to complete their task for them should they fall.

"Room's clear," Jac announced "Burnout, Turnpike," he nodded meaningfully towards the door and the two clones obediently took positions on either side of it.

"We've got another door," Royd said from the other side of the room.

"Jac, you and Bristler check it out," Spader ordered "we'll hold here for five, then this train is leaving the station. And you damn well better be on it."

"Roger that, sir."

* * *

The first door had led directly to a second. Kicking it open and rolling inside, Jac was hit by a wave of nausea so powerful he nearly tipped over. Bristler, right behind him, began to cough. Bristler staggered and leaned against the door frame. Searing pain followed, starting at a point behind the unfortunate clones' eyes and spreading quickly through their bodies.

Instinct bade Jac leave the room and seek medical aid, but knowledge won out. He'd never felt it before, but he knew what had happened. They had both just been exposed to the poison. If they returned to the others, they would spread the illness throughout the company. Bristler, slower to catch on, started to back out of the room.

"Forget it," Jac coughed "we're already dead."

Jac struggled to stand up, nearly lost his balance, managed to right himself and got to his feet. His vision was blurry already as he looked around the room. Behind him, he heard Bristler begin to wretch. The air was tinged with yellowish mist. The room was full of machines, all furiously pumping fluids and gases from place to place, mixing the sinister brew with computerized efficiency.

One wall was lined with cages. Each cage contained an Eglamork. Their poison did not travel well outside their bodies, so the Separatists had been forced to ship the creatures here.

"Lt., look here," Bristler's voice was strained.

Jac drifted towards Bristler and was startled by a flash of memory. Inside the cage Bristler was standing next to was a smallish Eglamork, two and a half feet long. Its brilliant feathers were shaded turquoise and a frill of green scaled skin around its head was flared out aggressively. But the thing that really struck him was the black wings.

It seemed like a long time ago when Jac had put a splint on the broken wing of the Eglamork. If not for a band of white cloth at the base of the wing, he might not even have recognized it.

"We can't just leave them here," Jac said "help me let them out."

"Are you kidding?. Those things get out and they'll bite anything they can sink their teeth into. Especially our brothers."

"Bristler," Jac kept his voice level, which was harder than usual "this is right. We have to do this."

Rather than continue arguing, he opened the cage with the familiar Eglamork. The creature flapped its wings once and then took off, coming to land across Jac's shoulders. It gently wrapped its body around his neck and hung there quietly.

Bristler moved to open the other cages, while Jac used the radio to relate their circumstances to Spader.

"We're going to get these creatures out if we can. We'll find another way out," Jac concluded.

"_Jac...-"_

"It's got to be this way. You come in contact with us, and you die to. You know that. Just carry out the mission. Don't worry about us. And for goodness sake, don't let Red come looking for me."

"_Roger that."_

The Eglamorks flapped and swirled around the room, screeching and hissing. But not one went after Jac or Bristler. Some flew out the door, then milled around, trapped there. Jac and Bristler made their painful way to the door and went through it, looking around.

They found another unopened door and went through it, finding themselves in a hallway. The Eglamorks swarmed ahead of them, their bright and varied colors seeming black as they swirled around one another like a tornado of bats.

Jac and Bristler helped each other along, creeping forward, both keeping a hand on the nearest wall. Jac had never felt pain like this. It seemed to be all through him, in every nerve, every drop of blood, beating against his senses like a demon clawing its way from inside him.

The Eglamork around his neck felt heavy, even though he knew it was so light he shouldn't even feel the difference. The animal drew a lid over its bulbous eyes and nuzzled against Jac's helmet. It seemed to him that it was cooing, but he couldn't be certain through the ringing in his ears and pounding in his head. Everything was noise, fractured, meaningless and deafening.

"_Death shall come for thee!. Thee and me!."_ the last terrible death wailing of Gyp rang in his head, as powerful and all consuming as though the ghost of the clone was yelling in his ear.

"_Thou art a disease, bile and blight upon the land!."_ Had he somehow known Jac would come to this?. Was there any way that was possible?.

Bristler stumbled and fell. Jac tripped and nearly went down on top of him. He leaned against the wall, shaking violently, while Bristler fought his way back to his feet. Neither of them had the breath or inclination to speak. Jac began to wonder how far they could really go.

* * *

"Captain, I think you should see this."

Spader turned to the clone who had spoken. Royd was leaning over the table off to one side. He brought up a holomap and Spader could see what he meant. This was the main facility, but there were three launch points. Ships docked there were preparing to set out with untold amounts of their deadly cargo. They had to be stopped.

"That's it, let's blow this joint!," Tag said, setting the final charge.

"Jac and Bristler aren't back yet," Red told him.

"And they won't be," Spader growled "move it out."

"What the hell are you talking about?," there was a sharp edge to Red's voice, suggesting that maybe he already knew but didn't want to believe.

"They're done for, son. I'm sorry, but that's how it goes," Spader said gently, then added in his usual brusque way "Now let's move."

For a moment, Red looked as though he was prepared to flat disobey, even knowing that it would do no good. Spader had known Red before either of them met Jac, yet he'd never managed to secure the sergeant's loyalty as Jac somehow had. Red had been something of a fiery tempered loner. Somehow, Jac had worked the miracle of evening out his temper, giving him focus and instilling in him a devotion to his brethren which had never shone through before as it did now.

"Do you think Jac would have you throw away your life, knowing full well that you couldn't save his?. What purpose do you think that would serve?."

Red closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Instead of answering, he turned to his men and ordered them to head out in the way they'd come in. That was answer enough for Spader. Red was the last one out the door. He hesitated, looking back for a long moment.

"Good luck, Jac," he whispered "godspeed, brother, wherever it is you're headed."


	23. Return to Madness 2

After waiting just long enough to ensure that the charges had gone off as intended, the thinning clones ranks split into three groups, which could hardly be considered platoons; they were really top heavy, oversized squads. It was all they had left. Spader had considered just leaving well enough alone but he could not, in good conscience, knowingly allow ships full of poison to leave the planet. He just couldn't do it. Once again Spader played the role of lieutenant, because there were yet again not enough to go around.

"You may get promoted to lieutenant yet," Tag commented to Red, who ignored him.

In fact, Red didn't have anything to say. It was a long haul to their attack point, and he didn't speak once along the way. Truth be told, nobody said all that much, but Red said less than anybody. That he had outlived Jac was something of a shock to him. He'd known, intellectually, that any of them could die at any time, but his mind had never fully accepted that Jac might get killed. It had come to seem to him that Jac would just go on forever.

How many times had it seemed as though Jac would die?. How many times had he escaped by the narrowest margin the slashing fangs of Death?. Could it really have been luck all this time?. Luck that just... ran out suddenly, without warning?.

In a way, it made Red angry. Jac was a great person, a good soldier. He had so much valuable knowledge stored in that brain, had so much he could still teach others... others who might now die, or worse, for never having known him. What kind of end was that?.

_The end we'll all have,_ he thought, _and maybe it's the one we deserve._

It seemed like such a waste. A terrible loss, which felt completely unnecessary. It shouldn't have happened. Red had gotten the full story from Spader, and then fell into his melancholy. He wasn't focused on the task ahead, but on the brother they'd left behind. Was there any point?. To any of this?. What did it matter how or when they died, when all of them were doomed to do so sooner or later?. What future could there be for a race built only to kill and die?. What was it Jac had said?.

"_What is it that they have which is worth standing in awe of?. Don't just respect people because you're trained to it. Loyalty is earned. Figure out who's earned your loyalty and stick by them, by what they believe. Who knows, maybe you'll find something to believe is right all on your own."_

Something like that.

_But I didn't!,_ Red's mind wailed, _I trusted you, Jac!. I believed in you, and what you stood for. But I never knew what that was. I just knew it was right. Now I've got nothing. Why did you have to die?._

He knew what Jac would say to that. Jac would say that it was right, that everything happened exactly as it was meant to. That people weren't wise enough to know what was best for them, the only way was to allow something beyond themselves to guide them. What that Something Beyond was, Jac had never fully articulated. Perhaps he didn't know himself. Maybe nobody did. Maybe that's what it meant to be Something Beyond us. Maybe you could never understand it.

_How can you trust something, or someone, that you don't even know?._

Red knew the answer to that in his heart. The same way he'd trusted Jac. Jac had always been a mystery to him, unpredictable at the best of times, always doing something outside the norm, except when you expected that of him. He seemed to conform to no standard rules, yet functioned within the confines of one of the most regimented bodies in the galaxy, the Grand Army of the Republic. How had he done that?. It seemed impossible somehow. But he'd done it, hadn't he?. And why?. For what?.

"_I guess... I believe in this. Right here, right now. Everything else... I don't know."_ Jac had said.

"_So how do you get to what's right or wrong from there?,"_ Red had asked _"what's worth dying for and what's not?."_

Red still hadn't figured it out. He didn't have the faith Jac had. He couldn't let go of thinking and feeling, and just allow things be. And thus, he was unable to just _know_ what was right. His own need for control rendered him powerless, floundering in a sea of confusion, fighting the current, and drowning in the violent waves.

_I still need you, Jac. You were my guide._

He knew what Jac would say to that too. He'd say that everything happened in its time. Not before, and certainly not after. If Jac had died, it had happened at precisely the time it should have, and in exactly the way it was meant to. Red would have to go on, on his own. For him, there was no other choice. He tried to reconcile that with the feelings of rebellion welling up inside him.

Who did you rail against when you felt the world had wronged you?. The Force?. Fate?. God?. Were they all simply one and the same, only under different names?. There were those who hated them, those who served them, and many who were angry with all of the above. None were considered good or evil, they simply existed, indifferent to the frantic scramblings of the living to escape from them.

Was that what Jac had known?. That struggling only pulled the noose of destiny tighter around your throat?. Or was it something else?. Was there some sort of choice involved?. A right choice, perhaps?. Right in whose eyes?. The eyes of God?. How could that be, if God/Fate/The Force was neither good nor evil, serving its own mysterious purposes?.

Red had avoided thinking about all these things, making peace with following Jac and not worrying about the rest. But now Jac was gone, and Red had to face all the things he didn't want to think about. For Jac had taught him to think. He couldn't blindly follow just anyone, not anymore. Jac had awakened in him the need to think things through, to understand them. But, at the same time, Jac had seemed to have blind faith in something beyond himself, beyond all powers of reason.

An independent spirit and careful thinker, relinquishing all control to someone -_anyone_- seemed a contradiction. And yet... every fiber of Red's being knew that was exactly the case.

Maybe that was the difference between faith and slavery. One was willing servitude, the other was forced labor. They looked the same on the surface, but one provided peace and joy in spite of the trials of life, where the other brought with it only pain and infinite sorrow. One gave meaning to life (and death as well), where the other stole it away.

But how does one find faith?. And how do you know it's right when you've got it?.

"_Everybody has to figure that out for themselves."_ That's what Jac had said.

* * *

In the shadow of the upper level of the converted Madhouse, surrounded and buried by dusty thorns and weeds, two clones lay motionless as though Death had already come and gone, the only sign that this was not the case was their shallow, intermittent breathing.

At length, one spoke to the other, in a voice aged and weakened by pain and shame.

"I killed Nap."

The statement hung in the air like an unwanted insect, held up by its own existence and nothing else, gravity causing it to shimmer and waver in the air like a glistening mirage, trying to pull it to the ground with unseen threads, yet unable to for the thing had a life of its own.

The other's reply not only held its own against gravity, but knocked the first statement to earth; a feat which gravity alone could not accomplish.

"I know."

A question from the first quickly followed "How long have you known?."

"I knew all along. I could see it in your eyes," Jac took a ragged breath before continuing "the guilt, the fear, the shame. A viciousness exceeding necessity which is uncharacteristic of one at peace with the things which they have done."

Bristler puzzled over Jac's vernacular for a bit. Clones weren't prone to using large words or complex sentences. It took a bit for Bristler's poison-logged mind to sort out.

"I didn't mean to," Bristler said defensively "I saw a figure in the cloud of dust, and told them to identify themselves. But Nap was asleep, as usual. I didn't know it was him until I'd already gone and killed him. And then...," he trailed off, but Jac finished it for him.

"There was nothing to be done except go on."

"You knew?. All along?."

"How could I not?."

"And you never told anyone?. Or shot me for killing one of my own?."

"Obviously."

Silence descended. The confession had lifted a heavy weight from Bristler's shoulders. For the first time in his life, he felt at peace with himself. It was a nice feeling, he thought. Surely this was the right frame of mind to be in when one met Death.

Strange that he would become sentimental now, after a life of cold-blooded violence. He'd always enjoyed conflict. It had always seemed to him that, when one died, they should at least go down swinging. Maybe punch Death in the face before their last breath.

Somehow, this seemed a whole lot better than that.

The two clones said nothing further. The Eglamorks had flown away as soon as they hit open air, all save for one, the one whose life Jac had once saved. The creature lay curled on Jac's chest, its forked tongue flicking in and out, flashing shimmering black in the sunlight. It lay quietly, as though it were a sentinel, perhaps trying to guard against the Death which both clones had fearlessly accepted.

* * *

Red was off his game. That much had been evident even before the shooting started, but now it was painfully apparent. Without Jac's calculating mind, or Bristler's risk-taking persona, Lucky Squad seemed almost doomed to failure. Even with the extra guys shuffled into the ranks from other squads which had been torn apart in the first two battles, Lucky Squad was looking worse than it ever had.

Spader struggled to keep the men together and fighting effectively, but it was no easy task with the squad's sergeant mentally miles away from the action. If only intel had told them about these launch sites, then maybe they'd have been granted more men for this op.

As it was, their numbers had fallen too far too fast, and there was nothing for it but to keep going, right down to the last man with the last rifle. It was how clones always operated, always fighting as though they expected reinforcements at any second, refusing to retreat when any sane person would at least fall back, pushing forward even when there was no hope of victory.

It was in their training, and their blood. But Red wasn't acting on either of those things. He was... somewhere else. Spader didn't have time to wonder where that was.

The fighting dragged on. Clones were smarter than droids, but they were limited by their own physical energy. Droids seemed able to go on indefinitely, clones got tired. The clones were exhausted and therefor doomed to failure.

But failure was not an option.

"Red, do you have any explosives left?!," Spader demanded.

"A little," was the vague and distant reply.

"Hand them over." Spader had to ask again before Red complied "When I give the signal, you get everyone out. You understand me, Sergeant?."

"Yes sir."

Spader wasn't sure if the reply was automatic and devoid of comprehension or not, but he didn't have the time to worry about that. He just hoped Red would do as he was told.

"Tag, you're it!. Clear me a path to that ship."

"Sir!."

Tag did as he was instructed, and Spader followed him, carrying the bag of explosives over his shoulder. Reaching the base of the ship, he knelt down and began to apply the last of the explosives to its underside. Tag covered him, but they were out in the open, in the center of the droid army.

A stray shot hit Spader in the back, another clipped the back of Tag's knee and sent him to the ground. Spader ignored the pain slicing into him and kept working. Now that Tag was down, he was open to attack, defenseless as he faced away from the enemy.

The droids didn't matter. There would always be more droids. The poison had to stop. It had to end here. If only it would end here, then that would be enough.

"Tag, get your ass out of here. On the double!."

Tag struggled to get up, but couldn't manage it. He was very much alive, but had been incapacitated by the single shot which had made one leg utterly useless.

"Dammit!." Spader snarled.

His hands were shaking too badly to set the charges. He was losing blood fast, he had no time. Why was there never enough time?.

Then, out of nowhere, Red appeared. He took the timer from Spader's hands, and the dying captain watched as Red set the charges, hefted Tag across his shoulders and headed out, knowing as he did that Spader could not be saved.

Seconds later, the valley was rocked by an explosion. A fireball of brilliant red-orange flame shot to the sky, black smoke billowing from it and seeming to spread across the sky in a dark blanket. Lucky Squad, including the extras, stood watching, flames dancing on their emotionless visors.

"And so we continue," Red breathed "doing that which must be done. At any cost."


	24. Return to Madness 3

Firelight flickered eerily in the dark, crackling flames dulling the surrounding silence. The planet had grown cold with the fall of night. The clones who had survived the day had regrouped at the Madhouse, but not one had felt like camping within sight of the vile place. Tired as they were, they had returned to the caves where the original escapees from the Madhouse had lived after getting away.

These walls were familiar to Red, but he was not the same person who had been here before. He knew this place, but it no longer knew him. Today, he had become something... other... than that which he had been before. He didn't yet know what that was, or what it meant, but that no longer concerned him.

He was what he needed to be, for whatever reason that all things had to exist in the ways that they did.

The soldiers who surrounded him had responded to the change in him. None had argued with him, or hesitated to follow his orders. Tyler and Brash had been unwilling to question him on the death of Captain Spader. He had said that Spader fell in battle, and they had ignored SOP and not asked how that had happened. They had accepted Red's word at face value.

The ship that had delivered them here would be returning in a few days. It had been in a hurry to deliver much needed supplies and troops to other planets. This was one of many stops. The clones weren't worried. They'd accomplished their mission, and had supplies to last them for quite some time.

Red was less worried than any of them, knowing as he did how to find food and water on this rock. Brash was acting as captain for now, having seniority on Tyler. Not that there were many orders to issue out. Just sit tight and wait for pick up.

Most of the clones were sleeping. Two were posted as guards at the mouth of the cave. Only a small handful were, like Red, sitting and gazing into the fire, absorbing the day's events in all their gory detail. Most were rookies, or veterans. Few in between. Mostly just Royd.

After a time, Red roused himself from his thought, just enough to notice that there was a noise in the cave in addition to steady breathing and crackling flame. It took him a moment to recognize what it was. He'd heard it before, he was sure of it.

It was Royd, tapping a stick against a rock. Red had seen him do that before.

"What are you doing?," he asked.

Royd paused thoughtfully, stick halted halfway to the rock.

"I don't know. I just... I hear rhythms, in my head. They sound like this," he tapped a few times "don't you hear them too?."

"No," Red shook his head.

"Huh," Royd went back to tapping.

It took a few minutes, but Red eventually recognized it for what it was. Clones were never taught to play music, but Red had heard it before. He could recognize it when he heard it now. Royd was tapping out a simple melody, one which didn't match any tune Red's mind could recall.

_The evidence is all around, isn't it, Jac?. Things are never so simple as they seem. We can think, we can learn, feel, and change, and grow; all without really noticing. We make choices, every day, little ones that don't seem to matter. And then, all of a sudden, that's our entire life story. All in an instant, we're who we were always meant to be. Our story told. But it's never over. There are others. There are always others. So long as there is life, so shall it be. That's something worth thinking about. Worth fighting for. And... yeah... even worth dying for._

* * *

Dawn came to the planet with a slow, strong will, turning the world from ash to gold as a painter puts color to a canvas. The fire had gone out in the night, but the many warm bodies in the cave had kept its heat alive even as the flame itself had died.

Beyond the cave, the world was brought to life in glorious color, the animals of the water, ground and air coming out of their burrows and nests, creeping from under rocks to sit in the sun, splashing about in their pools, taking to the air and generally going on; almost as though the day before had never happened, as though they had failed to notice that their land was now soaked in blood and the burnt remains of man-made things. Nature didn't care, but instead went its own way.

Among the local wildlife, the Eglamorks had found refuge. Alien to the world, but suited to it just the same, they took to the forests and the air to hunt and multiply, the foundation of a new Eglamork colony, light years away from where they had started. Perhaps scientists would one day dither amongst themselves about how this species, which had never developed any technology nor ever used it, came to be on two very different worlds. Perhaps they would exchange theories, and maybe they might even strike on the right answer. But that is a story for history to tell.

The rays of sunlight danced and flew their way across the land, reaching even to the dark and forbidding structure that was the Madhouse.

A lone Eglamork slithered from the shadows to sit in a sunny patch, its feathers radiant in the morning light. It half-closed its large eyes, then tilted its head upward, hearing the boisterous cries of its own kind. But it wasn't ready to join them. Not yet.

The sun pushed the shadows further, tearing away the veil of night to reveal the day underneath, finally uncovering the clones who had been left behind at the Madhouse. The ground was stained with blood and littered with bodies. But two of these, quite near the building, were not dead.

Jac opened his eyes.

At first, he didn't know where he was, or even who he was. It returned to him in a flash, and he sat perfectly still, wondering why he was not dead. When he moved, it was only to check the pulse at Bristler's neck, to find that he too was still alive. Jac wondered at this.

He wasn't sure how he felt about being alive. It raised all kinds of questions. The first was, of course, how?. How was he alive?. Why was he alive?.

He felt a tickle near his shoulder and was surprised to find two noticeable punctures in his armor. The clear mark of Eglamork fangs. He considered that. Was it possible, even remotely, that the bite from an Eglamork was not only deadly, but also possessed of curative powers?.

The Eglamork sitting in the sun turned its head and flicked its tongue at him, but gave no answer.

It had to be, for there was no other way to explain it. Once again, fate had seemed to deal Jac a losing hand, yet he had somehow survived. How many times had it happened?. How many more times would his life go on when it seemed as though it should end?. How do you know when it's time to die?.

Jac supposed those were all questions which should be left to better men than he.

"_Wake up, fell beast!. Arise and live!."_ The last words of Gyp rang in his ears.

Sitting up, Jac found aches and soreness in places he had not even known existed. He stretched a bit, trying to chase out the weariness he felt. Nearly dying often leaves one drained.

He nudged Bristler, who grunted irritably. Grinning, he nudged his brother again. Bristler growled in protest, but stopped abruptly. He also wondered how he'd survived. It took him longer to make his guess than it had taken Jac, but that was to be expected.

"Can't lay about all day," Jac said brightly "our brothers might leave without us."

* * *

Jac had known where the clones were planning to wait for the ships, and it didn't take long to get there. He and Bristler were nearly shot by the startled camp guards, who had thought all their number were already present and accounted for.

This was where the Eglamork left them, at last flying away to rejoin its own kind. The two clones had saved its life, and it had now saved theirs. It was time they went their separate ways.

The clones were speechless, to say the least, to find that Jac and Bristler were not only alive, but also completely cured. Republic scientists had been trying to find a cure for the toxin since it had appeared, and not one had been successful.

Royd was convinced that the Eglamork must have done more than just bite them, but he couldn't figure out what that might be. Bristler suggested that maybe the creature had just sucked out the poison, but Royd had said that was nonsense. For once, Bristler hadn't... well... bristled. He'd merely shrugged dismissively, as though it didn't really matter.

And maybe it didn't.

* * *

"I think I've finally figured it out," Red said while he and Jac sat outside the cave, looking out for the ship which was scheduled to return today.

"What?," Jac asked.

He was sitting with his face to the sky, eyes mostly closed as he contentedly absorbed the warmth of the sunlight. He liked it here. It was... peaceful.

"My purpose."

"Oh?."

"Well... not exactly. I mean, I don't have words for it. But I just... I know... I'm meant to do something. That... I have purpose. And not just the one drilled into my head by training. The one I know... inside. Like a feeling, but not a feeling. Something... well...-"

"Something beyond," Jac smiled serenely.

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm glad," Jac said quietly "not knowing if you even have any purpose, or if it's one worth having... it's a pain you don't even know you have until it's gone."

Red nodded. There was nothing he could add to what Jac had said.

"I hated you," Red admitted "I couldn't... I just couldn't understand what Spader saw in you."

"Neither can I," Jac replied neutrally "but I think it's really better that I don't. Wouldn't want to get a swelled head."

"You?. Do you even _have_ an ego?."

"Sure. He's name's Barry. He and my conscience have fights all the time."

"Barry?."

Jac smiled, but did not explain himself.

"Fine. Don't tell me. So what name did you give your conscience?."

"Constance, of course. What else?."

"You know, it's really amazing the army hasn't had you shot yet."

"Oh I know," Jac laughed.

"So, where do we go from here?."

"Wherever we are taken," Jac replied, at once sobering "and, before you ask, we'll do whatever we must. No matter the cost."

"No matter the cost," Red echoed "that won't be easy."

"Nothing is."

"Do you come with footnotes or something?. You're getting too deep for me to follow."

"Don't mind me, I'm not worth listening to. I'm not smart enough to know what I'm saying."

"Then how do you know when you've said the right thing?. Or said enough?."

"I don't," Jac explained "I just keep talking... until I stop. And hope I did right."

"If everything happens as it was meant to, how could you say the wrong thing?."

"Red, if I had all the answers, do you think I'd still be here?. Really?."

"I suppose not. I just...," Red trailed off with a sigh.

"You want to know. That's a beginning."

Jac opened his eyes suddenly, turning his head. The ship was distant, but they could both hear it. Yet Red could tell that's not what Jac was listening to. Maybe he was arguing with himself again. But that didn't seem to be the case.

"There's change coming, Red. What is... no longer will be."

"What's that supposed to mean?," Red demanded.

Jac looked around at him sharply, then shrugged.

"How the hell should I know?. I'm just another clone."


	25. Postscript - Order 66

**Postscript – Order 66**

"_T__hese men, O king, have not regarded thee: they serve not thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up"  
__Daniel 3:12_

* * *

The Clone watched the transport ship fly away, taking most of the troops with it. He and a platoon consisting mostly of fresh soldiers were remaining here on the Madhouse planet, to stand as opposition to any Separatist troops who might try to establish a new base here.

The planet was simply too remote to send troops to root out the Separatists, and it had been used too many times as a stronghold to afford leaving it abandoned. But the forces were spread thinly, as usual. Lucky Squad and two of the lieutenants who had survived the battle here on the Madhouse planet were being shipped out to accomplish other tasks.

Lieutenant Jac would stay here. He didn't mind. He liked this world. And he found that he had a certain affinity for guard duty. There was a quietness to it, yet the unexpected could happen at any moment. No big drum rolls for the guard, just holding his post, going on. Plenty of time to think, to learn, and to remember all that had gone by. And to teach.

Jac knew he should get the fresh troops working on erecting a tower to boost radio reception; as it was they couldn't catch transmissions originating much farther out than the planet's nearby moon. He ought to get them right to work. But instead he stood watching until the ship was gone.

Then he turned to look at the clones who were setting up the guard post, using materials of the planet to construct temporary buildings within which to work and sleep. They were rookies, the lot of them. Rookies. Always he was given rookies to work with.

A smile crossed his features as he thought of Sergeant Red's parting words.

"I swore I'd never leave you behind again," he'd said.

"You're not," Jac had replied "You're just... scouting ahead. Don't worry. I'll be fine. I've got plenty of rookies to keep me occupied. Go on, your ship's waiting."

* * *

How Akida came to know all that he did is another story, to be told at another time and in a different place. It must only be understood that he did know. He knew a very great deal.

Akida had never known a night untroubled by dreams. Flashes of insight, brief and flickering, cast his dreams in an unfavorable light. He had seen... seen all. Perhaps it was his nature as a clone which permitted this. Because he was accepting of that which must be and would therefor not interfere, he was allowed to see that which might otherwise remain hidden from the living.

He had never understood what part he was meant to play in the story which had slowly unraveled before him as he grew up. He'd wanted only to mind the machines, to fix and repair. But he had found himself denied this simple pleasure, and been driven further into his own subconscious. He was not seeking answers, merely escape. Escape from the truth which he must not speak and could neither touch nor hinder. What would be, must be.

He awoke to the sound of slumber around him. Tonight. Everything he had seen, everything he knew, it came down to tonight. He lay awake in the dark, listening to the breathing and snoring of his brothers. Sorrow pierced him like an arrow and he closed his eyes against it, trying to will it away.

_What will be, must be._ How many times had he told himself that?.

His mind returned to that first inspection. Standing among clones who had never seen the things he had, who didn't know the things he did. He remembered feeling sure that they knew something, something he never would. And then he'd met Jac. Of all the people he'd met in dreams, Jac was not one of them. An enigma in his world, a clone who went against the grain while always seeming to serve the laws he had been taught to obey.

_What was his purpose?. Why did I have to see him before... why couldn't we just never have met?. It would be so much easier... so much better, if I'd never seen him. Never known... what I know now._

A clone wasn't meant to make judgments about what was right or wrong. He wasn't meant to see the things Akida had. He wasn't meant to _know_, merely to serve.

Akida didn't move when the door was flung open. He knew who stood there. He knew what he and his brothers were being called to do.

He lay gazing at the ceiling for long seconds while his brothers moved around him, putting on their armor, preparing for the thing which seemed so heinous, so _wrong_. All because of Jac. Akida had never had any doubts before, but he did now.

_What will be._

Akida didn't finish the thought, sitting up and rolling out of bed. Why did he have to know?. Why him?. Why not someone else?. Why not no one at all?. What was the point of seeing, of knowing, if you didn't do anything about it?. If you _couldn't_ do anything about it?.

There are things in this life which are beyond the control of the living. Circumstances align themselves to create what are often called coincidences, blamed on chance and luck. Yet there are times when mere accident seems only too inadequate an explanation.

When Anakin Skywalker had met Jac, he had sensed a purpose in the clone. In his arrogance, he had tried to possess Jac, to claim the purpose for himself, to bend it to his will. But he had lost out to Obi-Wan. At the time of Order 66, Jac was the last thing on his mind. When he had come, reborn as Darth Vader, and ordered the clones to follow him into the Jedi Temple, unease had awoken in Akida. The young clone had long known of the terrible future that lay ahead.

The wave of clones followed Darth Vader up the steps and into the Temple. Not one hesitated, if they had any reservations they kept those thoughts carefully to themselves. For them, purpose and meaning had not changed. They did as they were ordered without question, which was exactly as they had been designed. Their entire existence, in a way, had come down to this moment. This is what they were.

Destroyers. Killers of the innocent. Not by their own plans, wants or beliefs, but at behest of an unseen hand whom they had been created to serve. It was this that Akida had always known, yet never been able to speak of. He had seen this. Now that it had begun, he wondered how many others might have seen. Had Jac known all along that this was how it would end?.

The clones spread out, ensuring that no younglings would escape from the slaughter. Each blast was the auditory registration of another life at its end. Another voice silenced, another pair of eyes which would never see again, a spark of life extinguished by the pull of a trigger.

Akida drifted farther than the others, to a darkened corner away from the center of the massacre. There he found the two younglings that he knew he would. He raised his rifle instinctively, responding to command as he had always been taught. But something stayed his hand. He looked into the eyes of the girl, and could not pull the trigger. For an eternal second, she held him so, though there seemed no reason. She could not stop all of them, and certainly could not stop Darth Vader.

Her eyes fell, dark lashes hiding her away, and Akida found he could pull the trigger. But something had happened in that instant. He heard her voice, deep inside, one soul to another.

_The choice is yours._

Akida fired two quick bursts, which impacted the wall just above the girl and her brother. If that had been all that was required of him, Akida would have been most relieved. But he knew it was not. He had made this decision and now he must follow through to its conclusion. He did not know why this was so, only that it was, and it was not his place to question.

"Come," he said in a low voice.

He never once paused, never once looked back. What must be, must be. And so must this be.

No one noticed Akida leading Iyan and Jez away from the Temple. Perhaps no one would have cared if they had. Perhaps it was always meant that the two younglings should survive. But maybe it simply worked out that way purely by chance.

Akida left behind him a bloodied hall, once a sanctuary, now a place where Death had found form and substance, the boundary to all that was sacred shattered by a single driving force. Desire.

Want mistaken for need, corrupted and Evil, an entity in itself.

* * *

Lucky Squad had been temporarily reassigned to serve under General Sofiane and his Padawan, Iako Shay. Many squads were moving around at this late date of the war. It's entirely possible that there was sinister method behind this apparent madness. Breaking clones from those they were most likely to be loyal to, causing stress, confusion and chaos. Seemingly the work of Separatists planted inside the Republic. As it was clear that orders might not always be followed, even that most important and deeply planted of orders might not be so foolproof as it was meant to be.

With free-thinking clones, anything could happen.

If the Jedi felt any sense of foreboding that morning, they didn't let on. Red wasn't sure if he felt something amiss, or if it was just he unease about having left Jac behind. Lucky Squad would be alright, Red knew. It was always inevitable that Jac would grow separate from them. He was never too long in one place or any one group, Red knew.

Jac had, perhaps, been with the men of Lucky Squad for longer than any other before them. Red didn't know that.

The planet was a glittering one of great beauty, with clear waters and sand like diamonds. The sky was a wondrous shade of pale blue, the sun a bright shining point in a sea of fluffy clouds. It was a place approaching what some might narrowly define as being paradise. In moments, it would briefly become an extension of Hell itself.

The clones were lined off behind the Jedi. To an outsider, they might look like a wayward bunch, only vaguely keeping together. But anyone who knew them intimately could see the carefully arranged order to them, not a man out of place, moving in perfect sync with one another, doing so only subconsciously.

Red cast a glance at that great dome of sky, and it suddenly seemed faded to him, as if at any moment it might disappear entirely, leaving the world open to the icy grip of space. Was this some kind of warning, or was it merely a wandering mind?. Red would never know.

Sofiane signaled for the men to halt. He'd sensed something. Quite possibly the onrush of his own doom. The clones who could melted into the undergrowth, crouching down and disappearing in spite of their noticeable white armor. They were near a stream, and much of the crystalline bank was clear of any cover. The clones who had stopped here knelt down and hoped for the best.

Red found the water unusually distracting. Its splashing sounded overly loud, and he turned his head slightly to look at it. It seemed ordinary enough, a clear laughing brook and nothing more. With that realization, there came a flash of insight. Something was wrong.

Order 66 came across the radio, delivered straight to the captain crouched behind Sofiane. There was no hesitation. Collectively, the clones arose and turned on their masters.

All, that is, except for Lucky Squad. Sergeant Red raised his right hand and the men under his command tensed. But when he pointed, his finger drew a line to their brothers. If they felt horror, or had thoughts of disobeying their sergeant, they showed none of it in their actions, which were swift and undeniably sure. Perhaps they felt, as he did, that this was something they must do.

Not because someone was forcing them to, but because it was right for them to do so. Or perhaps they believed in Red, as he had believed in Jac. Maybe they simply trusted in him, and had yet to find themselves, what they believed in. In the end, it didn't matter.

Bristler fired the first shot, cold-blooded as ever. The others were quick to follow suit. For Lucky Squad had been taught to think, and to be devoted to those who had won their loyalty, not to a mere _thing_ such as the Republic. They knew that their orders were not handed down by any God.

Perhaps in answer to Red's sense of "right", they turned on their own kind.

The Jedi who had once thought of every clone as being alike quickly recognized that Lucky Squad was defending him. It gave he and his Padawan a fighting chance. It was all they needed.

Darth Sidious had feared Jac's influence on the clones, and rightly so. Lucky Squad was not the only one to refuse to turn on the Jedi whom they had fought alongside. Nor were Sofiane and Shay the only ones to escape with their lives.

They left in their wake the bodies of many clones, whose blood poured across the once beautiful landscape, their betrayal of the Jedi coming to a violent end. In the end, the brook was no longer clear, nor laughing. It was stained with blood, and weighted with bodies. Blood of those who were, perhaps, innocent after all. Guilty only of having learned to follow their orders without question or hesitation.

"Where will we go?," Iako Shay asked her master.

Sofiane was silent. He didn't know where they could go. He knew the Jedi Order had fallen, though he did not understand how or why. He knew of no safe haven. If even the Temple itself had burned, where was there left for them to go?.

"I know a place," Red volunteered "I know of people who would hide us."

"Where?," Sofiane asked without hesitation.

* * *

Word on Aakaria spread fast. It wasn't long before every clone deserter on the planet knew of the two ships that had landed in the desert. It took little more time for Flame and his band to go and investigate.

They were startled to see Lucky Squad hanging around the larger craft; downright alarmed to find that the squad had Jedi with them. And they were utterly baffled by Akida and his passengers. A Jedi, a Padawan and two younglings. Four survivors of the massacre.

"Hello, Flame," were Red's first words "mind if we hang around for awhile?."

"Greetings, Red," Flame nodded gruffly, his choice of words betraying how much time he'd spent with the Na'taves "what brings you bastards here after all this time?. Finally come to round us up?."

"No. Actually... I'd like to try farming, if that's alright with you."

* * *

The survivors were brought before Majesty Meisheb. Her palace had burned, and she now resided in the forest with a handful of followers. Other Na'taves were scattered across the planet, every one of them in hiding, biding their time, eagerly awaiting the day when they would reclaim their world.

"I grant you sanctuary," she purred "None shall find you here."

And thus, the rebellion on Aakaria found its beginning.

Aakaria would one day be a safe haven for rebel fleets. It was also a training ground. Not for Jedi. Sofiane, his Padawan and the younglings did not stay long. No, it was a training ground for rebels. After all, who knew Imperial troops better than former members of the Grand Army of the Republic?.

* * *

Red and Lucky Squad soon moved on in secret, and set up a base of their own on the planet of the Baivd. The Baivd never joined in the war, indeed nobody who stayed on the planet ever saw them or the Sacred again. Perhaps they moved on and existed there no more. Nobody could say for sure.

* * *

In the chaos which followed the rise of the Empire, nobody took any notice of a squad missing here and there. In fact, it was impossible to track down everyone. Clones were of little interest when there were Jedi still to be hunted down and killed off.

Perhaps Vader looked for Jac. But, more likely, he had forgotten The Clone entirely. It seems likely that Jac never again entered Vader's thoughts, such an insignificant thing did The Clone seem to be. Such an easy thing to forget when one thinks themselves to be more important than anything. So easy. And so dangerous.

The radio tower on the Madhouse planet did not go up until after the order was sent out. The clones on the planet didn't know that the Republic as they knew it had suddenly ceased to exist. Because of this, no message was ever sent to them. Nobody knew they were there, nor is it likely that they even remembered the clones.

And so, the clones would wait on their guard for the ships to return and relieve them. Ships which would never come, because nobody even knew the clones were still here. Sooner or later, they must have realized that their wait would be in vain. But they, in their faithful service, would not choose to fail the masters who had abandoned them. They were the survivors. For them, the war would never be over.

Such was the price paid by the innocents.

* * *

You might be asking yourself: what did Jac do that was so great?. What difference did he make?. What purpose did he serve for the Force?. Look at his story again, and ask yourself this: what didn't he do?.

We are all of us given the opportunity to affect the people around us, the people who meet those people, and even people who only hear tell of us. More than that, the things we do can shape the world around us, have lasting effect on people who never even know we existed. That is our strength, and our weakness. And Jac was no exception.

Jac's purpose was in the people whose lives he touched, whose very beings were altered simply by having met him. Perhaps Obi-Wan, Anakin or even the Emperor himself were changed in subtle ways, which fundamentally altered their own behaviors, their own interactions. And, just perhaps, helped change the balance of the Force. Or maybe... it was all just happenstance, a series of unlikely coincidences which led down a trail of uncertainty. Maybe, just maybe, he really was just another clone.

Jac never received Order 66.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you all so much for reading (and reviewing), I hope you enjoyed it._

_Yes, I did notice several broken and uneven bits of the story as I was publishing it. They are the direct result of all the stuff going on in my life. Maybe someday I'll come back and rewrite them, or at least the 9th part of the story. Until then, this will have to do._

_As you may have noticed, there are a veritable plethora of untold stories within this one. Due to my own nature, it is likely that these stories will remain untold, at least for the foreseeable future._

_Thank you again, and goodnight everybody._


End file.
